Revelations
by Isis cw
Summary: 4xD. A sequel to Manifestations, this story explores the, ever eventful, relationship between Quatre and Dorothy. If they don’t send each other to early graves, they could just be friends… or more.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: Welcome to the Quatre/Dorothy portion of my sequel to "Manifestations." If you haven't read that, please do, especially the 'arc chapters' so that you have a clue what's going on. :) BTW, the manga Episode Zero will come into play during this story from time to time, Quatre's part of course. :) None of the rest of the mangas will though. If you haven't read it, don't worry, it shouldn't hinder you any. Please enjoy!

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 1 

Quatre attempted to read through the same paragraph of the same requisition form for the third time, his lips soundlessly pronouncing the words as they came off the page. _"The aforementioned plaintiff will hold harmless the dependent entity prior to termination of contractual representation, therein allowing the plaintiff due time and measures to achieve contractual compliance under the defendant's argument…"_ and it just kept going.

Flipping back to the last page of the document, Quatre looked down the order sheet. "Printer paper," he muttered. He flipped back to the first page's third paragraph that he couldn't quite get past. "Why do I need a hold harmless agreement for paper?"

Incredulously, he dropped his pen and let it roll back to the top of his desk, where it ran into his daily collection of paper cups. Rather disgusted with the whole thing, he flipped back to the order sheet and picked up his pen to sign his name at the bottom. If the unfortunate trees ever got a lawyer and wanted to sue him, he didn't care today.

Tossing the form aside, he picked up the next folder in the stack and opened it. He didn't read far enough to know what he was looking at before the phone on his desk rang. Without bothering to ask the secretaries who it was, he picked up his extension. "Quatre Winner."

"Well, you don't seem all that chipper today, Master Winner."

"Dorothy…" he breathed. He smiled, blinking back the sight of the papers in front of him and leaned back in his chair. "Lady Catalonia, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"That sounds better," she mumbled, and he could picture her smirk.

Quatre closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the chair, chuckling into the phone. It had been most of a month since he'd even heard her voice. She still worked extensively with the Mars project, and her priorities were being shifted more and more towards that side of things. She managed to keep him updated, usually through email, on the four Maguanac volunteers that they had left on the Mars colony.

But with his colony fabrication project, that she had originally invested in, all but finished, the two of them no longer had any business dealings to use as excuses anymore. Besides, with the colony project done Quatre had thrown himself further into the "inner" workings of the corporate office. He took up his old family residence and his new position.

She listened to him chuckle before she continued, "Actually, Mr. Winner, I'm wondering if you are available for dinner this evening?"

Quatre blinked his eyes open. "This evening?" he questioned, glancing at his computer clock, which read 4:44pm.

There was a light snicker. "Yes, as in fifteen minutes from now?"

He started. "Where are you?"

There was a full giggle this time from her. "Well, you see, I found this darling little coffee shop that specializes in caramel lattés, and while I was here I thought that it might be nice to catch up with you."

Quatre's expression slipped away completely. Turning slowly, he stood up from his chair and walked over to the wall of glass that he called a window behind his desk. Looking down from one of the top floors in the towering building, he could make out the striped awnings of the coffee shop that sat on the corner across the street. "Coffee shop, you say?"

"Yes, beautiful little place, outdoor patio and everything. And it has a lovely view of the neighborhood."

Quatre blinked, and then shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "You're across the street aren't you?"

There was a merry laugh from the other end. "Good caramel is hard to find." He dropped his head with a sigh. "Now then, about you being free this evening…?"

He chuckled and looked back out, finding the outline of the coffee shop again but it was too far away to distinguish any individual person. "Of course, Lady Catalonia," he smiled. "I'll meet you shortly."

"Don't hurry on my account. I'm perfectly comfy where I am. Finish up whatever you need to. I'll be here when you're ready."

Dorothy, first and foremost, always remembered his obligations when she… well, when she did things like this. At least he had that much. "Very well, Miss Dorothy. I'll see you soon."

"Ciao!"

He waited for the phone to click to tell him that she had hung up before he turned and put down the receiver. He shook his head again and took a deep breath, looking back at his pile of work. Probably nothing that couldn't wait for Monday….

He flipped through the stack to be sure about that before another thought popped into his head. Rounding his desk, he paced out of his office and into the reception area. Leaning around the corner of the hallway into his assistant's office, he waited for her to look up at him from her typing. "Mrs. Shanelle, do I have anything on my schedule for tonight?"

Removing the pile of items in front of her, she revealed the "master list" of his calendar and shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Thank you," he said with a small sigh, figuring he should have remembered to check that first. "I'm going to head out, is there anything you need specifically from me?"

"No, Sir, I'm headed out too," she smiled.

He nodded, "Have a good weekend."

Walking back to his office, he picked up the pile of items that he had finished, repositioned the stacks of things to do later, and threw away the set of cups that he always seemed to collect. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and left the office again, closing the door. He added the pile of things to Mrs. Shanelle's desk with a slightly apologetic smile that she waved him off for, and headed straight out the door.

He put his jacket on over his gray vest and suit pants as the elevator descended, but then thought better of it and removed it again. Dorothy would tease him for being too formal if he showed up neatly assembled in a full suit.

Slinging it over his shoulder instead, he made his way out of the building, walking down the front steps to the busy sidewalk and blending in with the five o'clock foot traffic. Crossing the street, he picked out Dorothy seated in the outdoor area of the coffee shop, towards the back of the patio. The guardrail of the quaint place was laced with enough ivy vines that he only got a few glimpses of her through it as he paced down the street towards the shop's entrance.

However, it was enough to notice that she sat alone at one of the back tables, while most of the front tables were filled with collections of various college-aged boys…. Most of who were not exactly interested in their drink choices.

Quatre restrained himself from rolling his eyes, but let the smirk slip into place. No matter what, she drew a crowd. But she was only waiting for him. For some reason, Quatre had to bite down the cocky overconfidence that the thought brought up. He figured he'd allowed a bit too much of her to rub off on him.

With that thought, he smiled at the gentleman that held the door for him as he entered the coffee house. Not being all that much of a fan himself, he sidestepped the line that was forming in front of the counter, and walked out the side door and up the faux rock steps to the patio area.

Dorothy sat with a book in her lap, idly twisting a spoon around in her cup. The mesh table and chair set hid next to nothing of her black suit. Which also meant that the almost-knee-length skirt left her neatly crossed legs available for view for most of the patrons of the patio. The double breasted jacket closed tightly around her, but left exactly enough neckline showing that a blouse wasn't necessary but recommended… which meant she didn't wear one.

Quatre would have chuckled if he hadn't been this close to her. Overly daring, yes, but never immodest or too unprofessional…. He was slowly getting used to it.

"Would you mind if I take a seat, Miss?" he asked, coming up to her table.

Looking up, she popped the book shut with a smile. "Not at all."

He laid his jacket over the chair in front of him and took an untraditional seat in the side chair closer to her. He hated having his back to the entrance, and if the patio filled up they would still be able to hear each other.

"Office work seems to agree with you," she teased, running an appraising eye over his appearance.

He inwardly sighed, "You know better than that." She had to; he'd emailed her enough complaints over it during their random conversations.

"Still getting to you?" she asked instead, taking a sip from her drink.

He smiled tightly with a humorless chuckle. "Do requisition forms typically come with hold harmless agreements?"

She shook her head absently while she set her cup back down. "Depends mostly on the pricing fluctuations in the market for the product. Which basically means who's sued who."

Quatre stared at her as she turned her attention back to him. "Being facetious, Dorothy," he clarified.

She blinked, slightly abashed. "Oh."

He didn't hold down the laugh and shook his head. "You're positive that you don't want a fulltime job?" It had become his typical response when she floored him with one of her "insights."

Rolling her eyes she puffed out a sigh. "I think I have one," she mumbled. "I spent all week on the Mars Satellite and I still don't know what I accomplished."

"Resource lines still?"

She waved a hand vaguely at the comment. "Resources, personnel disputes, you name it, they've lost it. Oh," she turned back to him, "and Manul says hi."

He smiled, "I hope they're being helpful."

She chuckled. "'Helpful' doesn't begin to cover it. If it weren't for them I'd be halfway back there by now."

Quatre nodded. "Anything I can do?" he asked, figuring that there had to be a reason she made a trip from the Satellite to the L4 cluster.

But surprisingly she shook her head. Slipping sideways in her chair, she propped her chin up with an elbow on the table beside him. "Right now, I'd really rather discuss anything but business."

He smiled a bit nervously at her typical smirk. "Didn't you ask the wrong person out for dinner then?"

Her eyes narrowed noticeably, their color appearing bluer in the outdoor lighting. "Dear Quatre, aren't I allowed to have a non-business-related relationship with you?"

She enjoyed getting a rise out of him and he knew it. "Of course," he tried to chuckle, images of Mars coming forcefully back to mind. He'd avoided conversation on the whole topic since then. Not that she had ever brought it up either, but… well, he didn't intend to be the one to force the issue.

"Good!" She rose quickly to her feet and picked up her attaché case, adding her book to it while he rose and collected his jacket. "Now then, where can I treat you, Master Winner?"

"Anything but seafood," he mumbled. One solitary trip to Earth under her care and he had officially sworn off real seafood forever. Granted, he should have known better than to blindly trust her recommendation, but still.

She laughed merrily as he allowed her to sidestep in front of him as he ushered her off the patio and through the shop to the front door. "…Actually, I think I know a little place," he mumbled.

Yes, he'd allowed far too much of her to rub off on him.

* * *

"More water, Miss?"

"Please," she tried. It actually came out as a loud whisper as Dorothy fought back the tears that threatened to leak from the corners of her eyes. Quatre sat across the table from her, his water glass only half empty. Hers had been refilled three times now.

The waiter disappeared again and Quatre specifically kept his eyes on his food, but she knew he was chewing only to keep from laughing at her. Reaching for the newly filled glass, she downed a third of it again, attempting anything to get the burn out of her mouth.

Quatre had taken her nearly halfway around the colony to a small, but very nicely decorated restaurant, and she hadn't thought a thing of it. It wasn't until she was handed her menu that she realized what he'd done to her.

Leaning as far as she could over the table she waited until he sheepishly met her eyes. "I hate you."

He didn't even try to respond to the comment as he picked up his napkin from his lap and covered his mouth as he laughed at her expense.

Indian. She had opened her menu and found that she recognized all of two items on the whole thing, and none of it looked appetizing. She knew he was just trying to get her back for ordering him crayfish at the Beneficiaries' Dinner he'd taken her to in Venice. The poor man, she had felt slightly bad about making him order the one dish that was served "still looking at him."

She no longer felt bad about that.

Dorothy had insisted to herself that she was not going to repeat his mistake and ask him to recommend something to her. Instead, she did what she always did in this situation; choose a moderate to high priced item and hope for the best.

Except that she still didn't know what the stuff was called or what it was, but it was anything but moderate in temperature. She wasn't a spicy food fan; garlic was the height of her experimentations with the spice rack.

On the upside, she didn't think she had too many taste buds left to burn off before it started getting better.

Quatre finally composed himself and repositioned the napkin on his lap before he scooted a plate of round flat bread things towards her. "Water may not be the best thing for you," he commented, nodding to the plate.

She glared at him with all she had, until her eyes started to tear up again. Finally sighing, she looked at the offered plate suspiciously.

"It's just bread, it will help take the edge off," he said. Meeting his eyes again she realized that he was genuinely offering her some help for her current… predicament. And she silently swore that the next chance she got, she was going to order herself crayfish, and turn them to look at him, and nibble at them until he got up and ran from the room!

The vengeful picture at least got her happy enough to take one of the pieces of bread off the plate and rip a piece off. He watched her as she hesitantly stuck it in her mouth. The stuff was chewy, but not bad, and it really did help a lot better than her water was.

Apparently satisfied that she was going to be all right, he returned to his dish and she re-pictured her crayfish torture.

"Is everything alright for you, Miss?" the waiter asked, slipping up to the table again.

"Yes," she replied much more confidently than she wanted to. "It's just a bit spicier than I thought."

He nodded understandingly, "Beef Vindaloo is one of our hottest dishes."

Dorothy forced a smile and nodded, pointedly ignoring Quatre's attempt to stifle his laughter.

"Then, more water, Miss?"

"…Please."

* * *

Dorothy staggered mildly, one hand on the building next to her and the other across her stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Dorothy please, are you all right?" Standing beside her, Quatre held a hand on her elbow and the other on her opposite side. Watching her nose and lips turn red while she drank five glasses of water had been rather amusing, but the thought that he'd honestly made her feel sick was horrifying.

"I'll be fine," she mumbled, leaning farther into the building. "I'm just… water logged."

"Oh, Dorothy," he sighed, coming around to stand in front of her, trying to see for himself if she was OK. "I feel terrible, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you sick."

"I know, I know," she waved him off and stood back to full height again.

He cautiously tipped her chin up until she finally met his eyes. With her in a pair of flats, his entire half-inch height advantage actually seemed noticeable as she finally raised her head. Her lips were still red, but the rest of her complexion was back to its typical buttermilk color. He'd officially decided it was time for the check once she'd started pulling her hair off the back of her neck. The blond was not one to fiddle absently with her hair.

She met his eyes, but sighed. "Quatre, I'll be fine. You won't kill me off with curry."

"Vindaloo," he technically corrected.

"Whatever." She waved him off again. "I'll be fine. I just need some air."

"Are you sure?" He felt really bad by now and just wanted to make her feel better. The look he got in return told him to shut up while it was still an offer. Holding up both hands he backed up a step. "Sorry."

The apology raised one of her infamous eyebrows and he gave her a nervous chuckle instead. Dropping it she took a step away from the wall and laced her arm through his. "How about a nice leisurely walk instead," she mumbled.

"Will that help?"

She looked over at him with a weary expression. "It couldn't be worse than getting in a car right now," she muttered. Raising her other hand, she gathered her hair together again and bunched it up away from the nape of her neck, lightly moving it back and forth to fan herself with it.

"Oh," his heart caved in and he stopped them both again, turning to face her. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I really am sorry, Dorothy."

She sighed, actually softening out her expression. "Dear, please, quit already. It's not your fault. I'm fine." Blinking, she rethought that, "…Queasy, but fine." She promptly rolled her eyes at his deflated expression. Taking his arm again she forced him along. "Not another word about it."

Figuring it would be best to try to distract her from her plight, he slowly walked her along the sidewalk. The crowds were thinned down to normal levels and the colony's lighting was clicking down to the twilight settings. He stuffed his free hand in his pocket for lack of anything else to do.

"It's a nice night," she mumbled.

He smiled at the comment. "Yes, good weather we're having," he teased. A "child of the Earth" she'd once said. That she was, and she was forgetting that on colony, weather wasn't exactly a viable topic for conversation.

She chuckled lightly as well as she realized what she'd done. "Well, what do you Colonists talk about to kill awkward situations?"

Awkward? He hoped she didn't feel that out of place with him. Examining her question he shook it off. "With Colony life, you focus on the inside."

"I've heard that somewhere before," she muttered.

He nodded although she probably didn't see it. Restarting their conversation he nudged her arm to draw her attention down the side street they were passing. "They've been working on reforming that section for most of the month now."

She looked at the, now empty, building equipment, and then back to him with an expression that read "why would I care?" He simply waited for her and it finally clicked. "Oh, that was supposed to be an example."

He smiled and shook his head. "You're going to have to get a little more practice at this," he sighed.

"Sorry," she muttered, just to rib him, he was sure. "OK, so I should make conversation about the surroundings. What if I don't know anything about the place?"

"Talk about what you do know, what you like. You made perfectly nice comments on the coffee shop today. Compliments about a colony are compliments to the inhabitants."

He watched her take a look around, and saw her nod. "Because nothing is exactly an act of God here, is it?"

He blinked at the odd thought, but didn't press her on it. "…Not exactly."

They walked on in a mostly comfortable silence, and he slowly led her down a couple blocks to this section's park, figuring if nothing else that she could sit down if she wanted to. She smiled as he gently led her through the decorative gates, and she surprised him by tugging him off the pathway and onto the grass.

"Dorothy?"

She chuckled. "Does it never strike you as odd?"

He was about to ask what, when she released his arm and bent over to slip off her shoes. Carrying them with her, she began a slow walk around the area, and he couldn't keep the smile down as he watched her.

"This grass was genetically created to grow in artificial lighting, needing next to no soil. It absorbs the majority of the water it needs from the humidity in the air. And it has to be planted in specific areas and in certain ratios with the amount of people to sustain balance." Quatre let his smile fade as she turned back to him, her hands and her shoes behind her back. Looking at him pointedly she shook her head, "Why bother making it look like grass?"

He swallowed as she turned away again, not knowing how to answer that. Dorothy slowly sunk to her knees and then down to a sitting position, mindful that she was still in a skirt. Quatre followed her and stood just behind her seated form.

She didn't seem to notice, as she looked straight up. "How much work is involved with creating the patterns and color effects on the light systems to make it somehow seem like a sunset?"

Quatre looked up too, watching as the colorings turned golden before it slowly bled out to the night's lights. Small clouds spiraled quickly through the interior space of the colony, caught in the wind belt that kept the humidity from reaching too high or too low, and circulated the air through the purification systems. Above them were the operations buildings and the equipment that kept the place going, along with storage and other necessary buildings.

"Do you never feel that it's just artificial?"

It was a soft question, but it turned his stomach. He had a number of old thoughts that came hauntingly back to him. None of which were centered on the Colonies being artificial so much as… himself being so.

She didn't know that. He reminded himself forcefully that his old attitude was just that, old. And also obsolete. And he had no need to bring those thoughts up now of all times.

He slowly sank down to sit beside her, her attention still focused upwards. "Life is never artificial, Dorothy," he stated quietly, reminding both of them. "No matter where we choose to live, that never changes."

Dorothy must have heard something in his voice because she turned to regard him. He didn't meet her eyes, focusing instead past the park entrance at the shops and houses and people walking here and there among them. "Quatre?"

He finally turned back to her, finding her eyes searching his.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, finding his hand in the grass between them, and placing her own over it. "I didn't mean to be rude." She blinked her eyes closed, the apology turning her face away from him.

Quatre could count the number of times he had honestly seen her with her defenses down, and that gentle kindness of hers fully displayed. She would hint at it now and again, but slowly he felt like he was being allowed into her confidence more each time they met.

Turning his hand over, he took hold of hers. It was half to reassure her, and half to hold her from spiriting away like she normally did. "It's alright. You're allowed an honest opinion," he smiled.

She looked back at him and quietly returned a smile too.

Turning away, he watched the same scene on the streets around them. "It might all be a simulation of Earth, but…." He fought for words, fought to use the emotions that passed through him. "…It's home." He shook his head, feeling that the words came up very short. "I can't explain it I guess."

"You shouldn't be able to," came the reply.

Finding her eyes in the dwindling light, he blinked at her.

"Home is where the heart is, Master Winner. Your heart has always been here." Her smile was genuine as she slowly turned away from him, gazing out at their surroundings as well. "Creating a home is a measure of love," she whispered.

He watched her, wondering if she really understood the pride of the Colonies. If she could ever honestly know what it was like for those that grew up here. "Do you still hate the place?" he asked softly.

She didn't turn away from her study of the area. "I'm not all that sure if it's the place or myself that bothers me anymore."

Quatre waited, not finding enough in that statement to understand her by. He was typically so good at knowing people, sometimes he could honestly, physically sense them. But Dorothy… she usually was never that open. It had taken the dire situation on _Libra_ to give him any insight he had into her. He felt more than a little at a loss with her, and always had. Like she was just a little too far away for him to reach… or so close that he couldn't see clearly.

"I miss the background noise here," she stated softly. "On Earth, the birds would be finishing up their songs by this time. The crickets would be starting in. And as much as I probably never stop to notice them, I miss them when they're gone." She chuckled lightly, leaning in closer to him. She met his eyes with a whisper, "It's like I'm trying to hide somewhere I know I'm not supposed to be."

Even in the dimming light, he caught the sparkle in her eyes. With a smile he leaned in closer too, squeezing her hand in his. "I won't tell if you won't," he whispered back.

She genuinely giggled at him before moving back to her position. "I just can't help but feel there is something missing." Pausing, she met his eyes again. "But I'm not sure it's the place that makes me feel that."

He searched her eyes, waiting for her to continue. She needed to say it, whatever it was.

Slowly closing her eyes, she stayed quiet another moment and he let her put it into words. "I think I notice it here more because I don't have the distractions…." She shook her head. "But I'm starting to think it's just me."

_Missing something_, he added to himself. All of this was a thinly veiled analogy for her own life, her lack of family and home. Missing something, anything, to completely put her heart into.

"I think I could get used to the place, Quatre," she interrupted his thoughts. He noticed a smile creep into her expression. "I think I'd like to feel at home."

* * *

"You know you could have stayed with me. I have the room," he teased as he helped her out of the car in front of her hotel.

"I know. But I wasn't sure you were here, and I have an early flight out tomorrow anyway."

He nodded, feeling a bit disappointed that she was leaving again so soon. "This would have been a long trip for a latté if I wasn't here."

"I wouldn't have been able to catch a flight back to Earth from the Satellite any sooner if I'd stayed there, so why not? Besides, I told you," she smirked, "good caramel is hard to find."

"I see where I rate," he muttered.

She giggled at him, and then surprised him with a hug. "Thank you, Quatre," she whispered.

He melted at the tone and gave her a soft hug back, feeling her fingers caress down the back of his neck as she pulled away. "You're always welcome," he mumbled, just for something to say.

She nodded, her typical smirk back. "I'll see you again for the ribbon cutting?"

He nodded as she slipped out of his grasp. "If you'll allow me to host you, Ma'am, I could return the favor."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You've returned the favor far more than I have. But fine, I'll count on it. Are you keeping the house after this?"

The house he had designed on their project colony was a nice little place, and he'd enjoyed the time there. But with the operations being completely turned over to the new government departments in a couple weeks, he really didn't have a reason to keep it. He shook his head, "No, it will go up on the market sometime next month I think."

She nodded, "I can understand that." Turning back she gave him a final smile. "I'll get back to you on our timing."

He nodded, letting her slip off towards the front doors. "Good to see you, Dorothy."

"You too, dear." She flashed him a smile and a wink. The doorman opened the door for her and closed it behind her retreating form, specifically avoiding looking like he'd just witnessed their conversation.

Idly, Quatre walked back around to the driver's side of the car, smiling absently.

* * *

"The road to a friend's house is never long." - Danish proverb

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Revelations _  
By Isis  
Chapter 2 

Quatre tossed the last thing from his desk into the box on top, wondering again how he could collect this much stuff in the relatively short periods of time that he'd spent here. Heck, the house on the newly constructed colony they'd helped build was less than a year old.

Shaking the thought off, he closed the lid and marked "office" on the outside of the file box. More than likely he'd end up pitching the whole thing, but it would do him good to go through it again just in case he'd missed an important folder or note somewhere.

Wiping his forehead, he picked up the box and took a final look around the room to ensure everything was out. Mentally checking this room off his list, he walked out into the hallway and down towards the front door.

He liked this house, and he always would. It was the first thing he really got a chance to be creative with its design. Granted he was no architect, not for a single family dwelling anyway, but there was a little of him in the blueprints, and he enjoyed that. It was warm and cozy, a vast contrast from the Winner Manor… that was now his. This just _was_ his.

He sighed to himself and shook off the feeling. Looking up as he approached the pile of boxes next to the open front doors, he found it odd that his collection of help for the day seemed more interested in whatever was in the front sitting room.

Pausing, he took a look around him and listened, realizing that the rest of the house had cleared into a group situated in the front. Taking another look, he watched the three Maguanacs keeping company in the doorway laugh together over something.

Odd.

And then he heard it. A single peal of high-pitched laughter. The sound instantly warming his heart and chilling his spine. The image of swaying platinum strands danced through his head.

Blinking, he continued on. Setting the box, roughly, on top of the rest by the waiting doors, he gained the attention of the men standing closest to the open entryway of the hall. The three cleared their throats as though they'd been caught doing something wrong, but it went unnoticed as they were drowned out by another peal of laughter.

Standing in the doorway to the formal sitting room, he watched with curious fascination at how a single woman could so completely befuddle the group of men around her. She was sarcastically teasing them, and they loved her for it.

Perhaps he was no different. He was, after all, standing there doing the same thing.

The Lady Dorothy Catalonia, bred from the height of grace of the former European royal bloodlines, and the best of Romafeller's military minds. …And unlike him, she enjoyed leaving her back to the door.

Perhaps it was that confidence, that Commander's presence, that pulled the soldiers here around her.

With a giggle, she tossed a few unruly strands of hair behind her shoulder, settling a hand on her slender hip.

Probably not.

Shaking his head, Quatre entered the room behind her, effectively being seen by the gathered men, but not her. She enjoyed the game, he was sure of that.

"Lady Catalonia," he sighed from behind her. "You seem to be interrupting our work efforts."

"Well, Mr. Winner," she replied in the same tone. Slowly, she turned enough to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes set in that predatory display that he still had to keep from flinching at. "Perhaps, if you unchained these men once in a while they wouldn't be so taken with little ol' me."

The group collectively "oohed" at the comment and he had to fight gallantly to keep his expression to just a visible smirk. "What kind of leader would I be if I let them get into that kind of trouble?" he muttered.

The group gave a round of responses again, and she smiled. Her eyes flickering to honest humor and then back again. "Now what sort of trouble could I possibly be?" she cooed.

The group laughed, knowing better by now. But Dorothy turned fully towards him, and Quatre knew instinctually that he was in trouble. And he didn't have an ounce of backup in this room. Sliding up close, she trapped him with a feathery touch against his cheek.

Leaning in toward his opposite ear, she whispered loudly as the whole room dropped to total silence. "Maybe you're just jealous."

The only sound for a full heartbeat was every other jaw in the room hitting the floor. Quatre himself was frozen. He didn't even dare breathe with that glint of pure evil still in her eyes, in case she did something worse.

But as the room burst into full bouts of laughter—completely at his expense—she dropped her hand away. A touch of warmth finally touched her eyes as she broke down and laughed along with the others.

Quatre turned away, licking his lips and puffing out a defeated sigh as the blush raised his temperature twenty degrees. He felt her hair gently caress against his side as she sauntered past. Her own little show of affection, or apology in this case. It didn't keep him from wondering why he never remembered that this was her turf and not to test her.

A few claps and the room finally died down. "Now then, gentlemen, dear Master Winner is correct. I am keeping you from your tasks for the day. So mush!" she ordered.

He didn't even bother to watch them go as they began filing out of the room and back to the moving tasks they had volunteered to help him with. How she did it…?

He finally turned far enough to glance over his shoulder as they began moving boxes and a few of the furniture items that would be going with him after tonight's events were over. He was in time to watch Dorothy seat herself comfortably in one of the overstuffed library chairs that they were about to move. Giving the men a wave of her hand, three of them shrugged and picked it up, her and all, and began carrying her along with the other items.

She happily gave him a royal wave as they took her through the doors and out of sight. And he burst out laughing.

Coming back to normal, he swiftly moved after them. "Halt that carriage," he stated as they stopped halfway down the walkway. Coming up in front of her elevated form, she gave him a weary look and he returned it. "I'm sorry, Lady, but I'm only taking the things I intend to keep." Her incredulous expression only made him continue, "And that doesn't include you."

He tossed a glance to Ahmed who was on the end of the chair, and he got the hint. The chair tilted upwards from the back before Dorothy had a chance to brace herself. He collected her as she was dumped out, stopping her from spilling forward and giving her the chance to regain her feet.

Snapping her attention to his face she glared daggers at him. "You realize this means war," she stated.

This time he didn't let it faze him as the others moved around them with the chair, laughing for all they were worth. "Haven't you heard, Miss Dorothy? We're at peace."

He hadn't let go of her, and this close, he saw the flicker in her eyes before the honest laugh finally let loose. "Don't give me a challenge, Master Winner," she warned. But she surprised him by sliding her arms up and giving him a quick hug while she was there, before spiriting away from him like always.

He watched her saunter back inside, calling out instructions to the movers as she passed… and then he realized he'd still lost. He sighed and shook his head before he moved after her.

Catching up with her in the hallway again, he found her taking a quick look around. "So what else are you taking?" she asked, not waiting for him as she moved out of the busy doorway and farther down the hall, peeking curiously into the side rooms.

Back to usual. Had to be years of practice, he figured. Shaking it off, he answered, "This is pretty much it."

"'For sale, house and furnishings'?" she turned to give him an odd look.

He shook his head. "I have a dealer coming sometime next week to pick up the furniture. The rest goes with the house."

"Ah. Any interest yet?"

"It won't actually be up for viewing until after that. I don't think it will take much. The colony has a lot of interest."

"Goody," she mumbled. Her investment, after all, wouldn't start getting kickbacks until the colony began repaying the manufacturing bills, which meant money from inhabitants, such as property taxes.

He moved along into the kitchen area, offering her a seat—which she promptly took on top of the counter, instead of in the chair. "Weren't you supposed to call and have me pick you up from the spaceport?" he asked instead.

"Oh, I figured you'd be busy," she mumbled.

"Just double checking really," he offered as he began rummaging through the cupboards and drawers in search of anything forgotten.

"So does that mean I still get sheets, or should I have brought my own pillow?"

He chuckled at the comment. "You might have to check to see if there are still towels for you, but otherwise our two rooms are the only ones left unpacked."

"Oh? So no chaperones for the evening?"

He looked up to give her a warning look for that tone of voice again. "The others are going back early to help Rasid set up some new equipment on an L4 resource station. Which is technically where I should be too, but I figured you didn't want to attend alone." He tried to make it sound like a favor, but she knew as well as he did that there was no getting out of this now without appearing rude.

"How lucky for them," she muttered. "But you're right. It wouldn't make sense for me to be there alone."

Finishing his search, he mentally checked this room off as well. "You did more on this project than any typical "financial backer" would. You have every right to be there."

Rolling her eyes she hopped off the counter. "Let's hope for your sake that everyone else sees it that way."

He blinked, "My sake?"

Turning away she started out of the room. "You've never seen the ugly side that comes with a Romafeller connection."

* * *

Quatre descended the open staircase that spilled into the hallway of his house at a quarter till seven. Any slower and they were going to be fashionably late whether they meant to be or not. A collection of whistles and catcalls were heard through the house as he realized that his friends hadn't left yet.

Stepping down he gave them a quick bow, a habit that he blamed Trowa for, and smoothed down his tux jacket again. He hated the thing. Not that it was any more uncomfortable than anything else, but it was just that he always felt it managed to make him look even younger. And his age was always a factor in all of his business relationships.

The group was in rare form, and managed to rib him mercilessly over the attire. Finally getting them to quiet down, he took a quick look at the collection, standing haphazardly in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. "And you're all still here because…?" he teased.

Every one of them grinned openly. Ahmed finally chuckled and answered, "You can't expect us to leave before the main event."

Quatre gave them all an odd look before catching on. There was a soft click of a door shutting upstairs and barely heard footsteps along the second story hallway towards the stairs.

Shaking his head, he took a step out of the way and turned as well, expecting the Lady Catalonia's entrance.

They weren't disappointed. Appearing at the top of the stairs, she was apparently still adding an earring as she moved along, not noticing their group until she was a few steps down—when the whistles started.

A rather simple, dark green, gown graced her figure. Its A-line design belled out slightly, nearly hiding her feet. The neckline was modestly high, although the dress was held up with only spaghetti straps. But on the top of the bodice area, a filmy layer of see-through material wrapped itself around her and over her upper arms, adding the appearance of short sleeves. A set of matching gloves managed to hide the rest of her arms from sight, leaving only the top of her shoulders and neck bare.

She paused, blinking at them humorously as the group continued their calls, and a few random professions of love. "Well, well, you boys do need to get out more," she muttered. Continuing down, she graced them with a smile, her hair draped behind her as always, a tiny black headband the only thing taming it.

Quatre slowly sighed, deciding she was a lot better at these things than he was.

Finally getting them both out of the house—which was no easy task given the guys' desire to ogle Dorothy for her appearance, and Dorothy's desire to hear it all—Quatre got her stuffed in the car. Practically running for the driver's side, he threw a goodbye and a thank you over his shoulder for the others' help and jumped in.

Dorothy picked on him for being in a hurry to get to the ceremony anyway, but he hated being late, and he knew she wasn't one to be either. Her comments that she was really beginning to like the other Maguanacs had him laughing through most of the traffic anyway.

Casually glancing over at her as she chuckled to herself, he decided he may as well get picked on in the car for this, rather than at the site. "They're right," he stated quietly. Catching her eye when she turned to look at him, he smiled. "You do look lovely."

He was expecting one of her infamous comebacks, but instead he saw her blink, seemingly taken aback. "Thank you," she said instead.

He cast her a couple more glances as she looked away again. "I'm sorry," he added softly. "Did I say that wrong?" he asked, wondering at her reaction.

She giggled and waved a hand. "Not at all." Turning back, she caught his attention again. "It's just nice to hear."

Quatre blinked at the traffic in front of them, confused. "You just had fourteen men ogle over you. How is that different?" he chuckled.

She hummed to herself, turning back to her window. "There is a large difference between being complimented by men, and being complimented by a man."

He shot her another couple looks, but didn't get any other response before they turned into the parking area of the hall. He mentally shrugged and filed the piece of information away for some other time, not knowing what else to do with it.

* * *

The ceremony was long, dull, and if he couldn't find a serious conversation to wander into soon, his cheeks were going to fall off. Taking a short break from the pleasantries, Quatre weaved through the room, deciding on a glass of punch, for no other reason than to have something to do to waste time. Checking the side corner, he picked out Dorothy again, just to keep tabs on where she was.

He'd learned very quickly that having the Lady Catalonia on your arm was a lot like keeping a hold of a rabid weed-eater. He'd been hopelessly lost the first time he'd formally escorted her to a social function. Since then, she had lightly educated him on her social "tactics."

Dorothy was, what would be politely referred to as, a social butterfly. She would flitter from here to there, never staying long, but landing everywhere at least once. Quatre had slowly decided that this was the most difficult path to follow, as it called for perfect timing and more than perfect excuses for quick departures.

Needless to say, he wasn't there yet. Despite his father's position and his family's privilege, Quatre himself was still not nearly as experienced as most anyone else here. He had not taken a truly public role until after his father's death, and therefore had very few reasons to attend such things. He'd managed a few at his father's side, but never on his own, and even then he was merely a shadow.

Dorothy, as always, had thrown everything he knew of typical human interaction into total disorder the day he'd asked for her help with one of these. She had confessed to him that she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't expected to be present at a function or party, and had learned her trade before her teen years.

But that certainly didn't make her a bad date though.

Quatre had been totally at a loss as he attempted to keep up with her stride their first time out together, until she had quietly told him to stay where she put him. After that, it had taken him half the evening to figure out what she was doing. She abandoned him with groups, leaving him to fend for himself in their conversations, only to return and, politely, drag him away to a different conversation, only to leave him again.

By the time the two were placed together again for an extended period of time, he was totally beside himself. For her part, Dorothy had quickly and quietly given him a report on the vast majority of the occupants of the room, pointing out key players, people she felt he should meet, people to avoid, and what to talk about with whom.

In Dorothy's own analogy, she was the recon agent. Her goal was to work over the room, ascertain information on the occupants, check the conversation topics, and profile the best candidates to "meet and greet."

And Quatre had been floored.

He'd learned very quickly since then to move when she told him to, take to heart a few hurried words from her as they passed along, and to allow her free reign as they proceeded. She would return to his side at any change in events, attaching herself when necessary or when she felt she was needed. Most of all, she would ensure that she kept an eye on him for signs of distress, which was usually pointed eye contact if he was stuck in a group where he found himself hopeless of leaving.

He attempted to return the favor, but Dorothy was far superior to him in getting herself out of such things, and had yet to call on his help. All in all, she was quite possibly the best person in the room to have on your arm… figuratively speaking.

Quatre smiled at the thought, hurriedly turning it towards a group of the newly-elected colony government officials to cover it. Romafeller may have been known for its sons, but its daughters seemed far more dangerous.

Snagging a glass of punch off the back table, he turned his attention over the room again, searching for a new target. Target. Great, now he was going to have to retrain himself away from her vocabulary again.

Regardless, he had a small checklist of individuals to happen upon during the evening. Many of the groups from the other building crews he'd met before, organizing this or that. It was very helpful to have the option of talking with someone he was already acquainted with. It left breaks in the evening where he wasn't trying so hard.

Moving off to his left, he spotted Dorothy again, moving to another group closer by. Perhaps he could practice interrupting her this time around.

"…I can't believe she came."

"Catalonia. Just what the Colonies need, more damned Romafeller."

Quatre paused, sidestepping as someone made his way through. A typical looking group stood off to the side, next to one of the gigantic pillars that held the fantastic building up. Sipping at his drink, he slipped back a bit farther, taking in the sights of the room as though mindlessly searching for something.

"She can hardly be considered a Romafeller. She's just a little girl," came a softer reply.

Quatre kept his eyes outward, his back to the pillar and to their group.

"Humph! Little girl? She's got her grandfather's blood-money put to good use already. Got her claws into a colony no less."

"Don't ever let a Dermail fool you. That girl's got all she'll ever need to screw over everyone around her."

"What does she want up here anyway?"

"Isn't that obvious? She's hoping no one will figure out who she is."

"That's backwards. She wants everyone to know who she is. She just wants into Colony money. There's still one thing she needs."

"What?"

"Do I have to remind you who she walked in with? Romafeller and Winner, doesn't that just bite you in the ass."

"Oh, that kid can't be that stupid."

There was a round of snickering from the group, and Quatre bristled. Who did these people think they were? What would they know about either one of them?

"Hell, what horny teenager wouldn't be pining for her?"

"Ol' Winner would roll over in his grave."

"Wouldn't that be a fitting end to the line? Done in by some dumb tramp."

"Dumb? Oh no, that girl's got claws that reach halfway to Mars. If she's got them set on space, she'll have it. And she's already got her foothold. I hope the kid got something good for his hormones because he just handed her the key to the kingdom. After a project like this, she'll go anywhere she wants."

"Who else is going to take that on?"

"Humph! You're joking. Take one good look and tell me who's not going to take her? And now she has the resume to back it."

Quatre's glass began to tremble as his hand tightened around it nearly to the breaking point. He was livid. What right did they have to speak about either of them that way? What did they really think they knew? How could they believe that?

Why was he listening?

That was the thought that made him take a deep breath. Licking his lips, he relaxed both of his hands and then scanned the hall for real this time. Locking onto Dorothy again, he forced himself to move, leaving the conversation behind him. They weren't worth his time or the effort if he tried to confront them. They wouldn't believe him anyway, they only heard what they wanted.

"Romafeller and Winner…." 

In less than a minute both of their names and reputations had been dragged so far through the mud they no longer represented the people they really were. An ignorant and cynical group of well-to-do Colony citizens, who prided themselves on being open and available to all of humanity, had single-handedly brought up a dark anger in him.

Why? Just… why?

He tried to brush it off. Tried to leave it behind him with the rest of the group. But his anger was still there, and he knew it wouldn't go away nearly that easily. Those words were going to haunt him, he knew it. But right now, he wasn't going to let them get him to the point where he made a fool of himself.

If they wanted to invent things, fine. But he wasn't going to give them anything to work with if he could help it.

He forcefully told himself to relax, and practiced his smile again on a couple other groups before he made his way up to Dorothy's side. She smiled as he gracefully joined them, and wrapped an arm through his, forcing him to peel his fingers off his glass in order to shift it to his free hand.

* * *

Dorothy slumped down in her seat as the car once again maneuvered along the streets. By this time traffic was light and the streets were dark. Rubbing at her eyes, she realized how badly the time difference was getting to her. It was still relatively early here, but she was exhausted.

She figured that Quatre had picked up on it, and that was his reason for wanting to leave already. They weren't being rude by any account, but the affair wasn't even close to finished. The crowd had thinned somewhat, but not to those levels.

Leaning back against her headrest, she lazily blinked her eyes closed. "That wasn't so bad," she sighed, just for conversation.

Quatre stayed quiet, giving no indication of having heard her. Cautiously, she peeked one eye open and studied his profile. Come to think of it, he had been quiet a lot this evening, leaving his conversations on his own and seeking her out far more than last time.

She had thought that he was comfortable with their arrangement, but she had found herself leaning more towards full conversations beside him as the evening wore on, instead of her typical quick fix. Perhaps he still wasn't all that steady on his own. She should have talked to him about it beforehand, she just hadn't thought of it.

But he still made no move to start any sort of conversation, and he certainly wasn't going to reply to hers. Picking her head back up, she looked at him fully, wondering a second if she'd done something to make him angry with her.

"Quatre?"

"Hmm?" he started.

She raised an eyebrow at him, although he probably couldn't see it. "Something wrong?" she tried instead.

He shook his head. "No, sorry, just thinking."

She chuckled to herself and then rolled her eyes. "Quatre, honestly, give me a little credit." He glanced at her and then back to the road. "When are you ever 'just thinking' about something that's not 'wrong'?"

He started to say something and then stopped with a sigh. "Sorry."

She silently wondered if there was a way to remove that word from his vocabulary. "Something I did?" she asked instead, figuring she'd start there.

"No! Absolutely not. Really, Dorothy, I appreciate you coming tonight."

Well, she could cross that off the list. "Well, you're dearly welcome. How can I pass up the chance to be escorted by such a handsome corporate president?" she teased, hoping to get him to lighten up.

Stopping the car at an intersection, he raised a hand to rub at his forehead. "Thanks," he muttered.

That wasn't right. A little worry crept into her, as she studied his movements and his quiet responses. He was fine earlier. Even on their way there he seemed happily normal. That meant it was something at the ceremony that got to him. "Quatre?" He turned to look at her, probably hearing the change in her voice that she knew was her tell. In the streetlight, those soft blue-greens were hooded and she couldn't see enough to give her a clue. "What's wrong?"

He paused a moment, maybe trying to see enough of her to read something too. But he quickly shook it off, turning back and waiting for the light to change. "I'm not sure I want to talk about it," came the soft reply.

And her heart dropped. Staring through the dim lighting, she didn't even know what to say to that. This was Quatre. She knew very well by now that he was not a soul to suffer in silence. He confided in others, it was his release; he was just that sort of person. It helped him to bounce things off of other people.

Maybe she didn't get to be one of those "other people" anymore.

The light changed and they continued on in silence. Colony silence. She hated it. "Anything I can do?" she tried instead.

Again she apparently shook him out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry. No, it's really just something I… have to get over."

She watched his hands squeeze the life out of the steering wheel, and took a wild guess that he wouldn't be getting over it any time soon. "…Alright."

There was a sigh, and he dropped his head back to hit the headrest. "I overheard something tonight I really wish I hadn't," he admitted, the bitter edge coming out strong in his words.

Dorothy blinked at him, realizing why he hadn't wanted to talk about it. He was trying to keep his anger down, and talking was only going to give it a way out.

Swallowing, she took a chance and reached across the car and placed her hand over his on the wheel. She tugged gently until he dislodged his fingers from their death grip and allowed her to pull his hand over to her lap. Lightly, she wrapped it between both of hers. "These things can get brutal, dear," she stated quietly, more than one instance coming unbidden to her mind. "Sometimes there's nothing to do but take it."

His hand tightened on one of hers, and she got the distinct impression that he was still holding back. "I'm realizing that," came the edgy reply. "I just don't understand _why_."

She let the smirk slip into place. "Petty people make themselves feel better by finding a reason that they are superior to everyone else. Talking is their best weapon."

Pulling up to his house, the rest of the street was dark and quiet, this section still mostly undeveloped. Parking, he didn't take his hand back, and she made no move to release it. "How do people get things so wrong?"

She snorted, thinking of all the times she'd have given anything to stab a fork into someone at a dinner party. "They don't care."

Vaguely he nodded, finally slipping his hand away from hers and turning the car off.

She waited for him to exit and walk around to open her door for her. Climbing out, she slipped her arm through his again as they walked up to the front door, trying to be of some sort of comfort to him.

* * *

"Never explain—your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." – Elbert Hubbard

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	3. Chapter 3

_Revelations _  
By Isis  
Chapter 3 

Quatre sat on the second story balcony outside the master bedroom. The French doors that led back into his room stood open behind him, inviting him towards a warm bed and quiet sleep… except that it was the same bed that he'd escaped from hours ago.

His mind wouldn't settle down, and there would be nothing quiet about him even if he tried to sleep. Instead, he sat on the ground in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, oblivious to the fact that he couldn't see a thing except for the railings around him. He had both knees drawn up, his arms crossed above them, and his chin on his arms.

At least he'd finally worn out his body. Physically, he was tired enough that his eyes were forgetting to blink. Mentally… he didn't know where to begin.

Emotionally, he was far more angry than anything else. But he was also hurt, confused, sad, and… lost really. Anger was the initial reaction of course. He was branching out from there, especially since he had no focus for it anymore. By morning, or later morning anyway, the others would take over.

Returning to the house at least got him away from the group that he'd overheard. Not that there weren't times when he would have liked nothing better than to find them again. But he didn't think he'd be invited back if that were to happen.

He was better than that. He'd just wanted to get out and away from the stuffy, conceited politics of these things. He couldn't take trying to fake his smile anymore, and the conversations all ran together in his head anyway. He'd convinced Dorothy to leave a little early, and considering she was half asleep on her feet, she made no arguments.

But he really hadn't intended to tell her something was wrong. He should have known better. Dorothy might not be his oldest friend, but she knew him well enough to know when he wasn't really there. Not that anyone usually had trouble deciphering what he was feeling.

Dorothy. He'd come full circle five times already. She'd tried. She really had. He just wasn't in the mood to be comforted. Part of him still wanted to be angry.

Yes, it was childish, and it sounded terrible, but there it was. He just preferred to stay mad at a nameless, faceless group of people whom he had never met, and wouldn't be able to recognize if he met them again. He was being pathetic and he didn't care.

He wanted to feel angry; otherwise the only thing left to feel was hurt. Hurt that he had no intention of sharing.

Dorothy had pulled him into the front sitting room when they'd gotten back. Absently, she sat on the couch and watched him pace the floor a few times as she tried to convince him to just tell her what was said. He'd managed to not inform her that most of the rude conversation had been at her expense. A fact he still fully intended to keep from her. She didn't deserve to have to hear that.

She had tried to sooth him a little, spouting her ever-famous words of wisdom. And although he was sure she meant them, they didn't do any good. He didn't tell her what was said specifically, so her comments were only generalities as well. He understood that people could be mindless and brutal. He'd watched an entire colony turn against his father and….

Quatre closed his eyes as they began to sting, the memory again playing unbidden. What made him think they would treat him any different? They didn't understand then, and they weren't trying to now.

To the Colonies he was just a Winner. A rich, snotty, emotionless, test-tube brat created only to lord himself over them.

"_Romafeller and Winner, doesn't that just bite you in the ass."_

He was apparently even worse than his father. He was a _teenaged_, rich, snotty, emotionless test-tube brat who was apparently plaguing space with the evils of Romafeller due to his inability to control his hormones!

He let out an infuriated groan and clenched his hands into fists. Releasing them to drape against his legs again, he sighed, silently thankful that he'd chosen to come outside. He'd paced the floor in his room until he realized that he was absently picking things up and putting them down again as he moved, more than likely making more noise than he'd intended to. Dorothy was, after all, asleep in the next room.

Dorothy. Also known as: Romafeller. Daughter of General Catalonia, although no one seemed to bother with that side of her family for whatever reason. She was a Dermail, granddaughter of the Duke. She personified the Romafeller lifestyle, even after the entire Foundation fell into ruin. How she got to take on the brunt of the whole dang organization even though she was never a real member, he didn't know.

She didn't deserve that reputation any more than he did his. Family history had a long memory. No one would understand that better than the two of them. There were times when he envied Trowa's lack of a name….

Trowa. If his dear friend knew the thoughts running through his head right now he'd…. Well, he'd probably silently sit down next to him and stare at the same railing posts. Eventually he'd give him one or two words of wisdom to put this all into perspective. Quatre almost smiled at the thought, because for all his quiet, introverted nature, Trowa always knew what to say to actually get to his heart.

Dorothy needed to work on that.

That thought did actually get a smile to come up. If he could put those two together into one person, they would know him better than he himself ever could.

Dorothy, however, had missed the subtleties of the situation this evening. The first angry sigh he gave her, she began laughing at. Yes, laughing. At first he chalked it up to a misunderstanding. But as he continued to try to vaguely tell her what he'd overheard, she still continued to try to fight the chuckles.

He'd given up and finally asked her bluntly what was so funny about the situation.

He had then been informed that he was officially "pissed."

When asked why that seemed so amusing to her, she had slumped over to lay halfway on the couch, her feet still hanging over the side, and looked at him. _"I wasn't sure you had it in you."_ She'd then promptly gone on to offer more advice, which he had promptly forgotten. However, after her third 'Gundam pilot on the war path' remark, he'd turned his back on her and went to his room.

To her credit, she did follow him and apologize—while still laughing—but he couldn't have expected more from her. He was, after all, the one who didn't want to be consoled. But she had blocked him from closing his door on her, and had slipped herself into his room somehow as well. Eventually she'd ended up sitting on the floor in front of him as he sat on his own bed, her dress belling out around her.

She actually made an adorable sight as she tried various tactics to lighten his mood. He was going to regret that conversation in the morning, well later morning. He'd given her far too many things to pick on him about. On the flip side, he had officially discovered that she had an unhealthy love affair with chocolate, and that she was most certainly a cat person.

At some point he found himself lying on his side, his head propped up with an elbow, watching her babble about something. Apparently she became more talkative when she was sleep deprived, because she never seemed to notice that he wasn't listening.

His thoughts drifted around her instead, innocently sitting on the floor, her dress looking like a green cloud around her, and her hair pooling behind her. Her gloves had been forsaken about the same time his jacket, vest and bowtie had been.

The group was right about one thing. She would go anywhere she wanted to, and no one would turn her down. Not because of any hormones, but because she had a genuine desire to succeed in whatever she wanted. Those that didn't know her could say anything that they wanted to, but he would never see her without seeing that deep-seated kindness in her. And she had never displayed it so well as she did with him tonight.

He felt mildly guilty for making her feel like she needed to try to fix him. He would have to apologize—no, he'd have to thank her for her help tomorrow.

He smiled at the thought, realizing that she was still making him feel better, even when she wasn't there. Vaguely he hoped she was sleeping all right. He knew that she didn't sleep well on colony, but she'd practically been out by the time she'd said goodnight and went to her own room.

…And he had eventually ended up out here; sitting on the cold concrete letting his thoughts go in circles. He blinked, silently noting that there was a slow golden cast to the lighting. Morning was coming sooner than he would have thought.

Raising his head, he tipped his chin back and looked up. It was still dark, and the "ceiling" lights were still on, shining like stars…. Straight rows of stars of all the same color and brightness that bent up off in the distance with the curve of the colony.

Dorothy would hate the sight. It would be nothing but artificial to her.

He shouldn't put words in her mouth like that. She just had no way to get used to the Colonies. But she was getting better, he noted. During their work with the colony fabrication, she had learned more than she probably ever wanted to know about the mechanics of the place. But she had also spent time on colony, had seen first hand the pride of the builders. She'd commented on it more than once, and it gave him some hope.

Not that he was sure why it was important to him for her to come to terms with the place. She didn't seem to mind short visits for business, and she would more than likely never make this her home.

Staring up at the straight "stars" and the fake "sunrise" colors as the lighting systems slowly came on-line again, he realized that she wouldn't be happy here. She would miss the Earth, and the unpredictability that came with nature. Her impulsive side wouldn't be satisfied if she lost the challenge of battling the elements.

Perhaps that was what she finally saw when she was helping them with the building project. She found a challenge that she could delve into. The challenge of creating these stable places.

Maybe that was what was slowly changing her mind. She had said that she wanted to feel at home….

Somehow, sitting out here, this didn't feel like home either. His faith in the Colony inhabitants had been shaken last night. He would have thought they were better than that. He would have thought they could forgive easier. Yet, it was an Earth child, who hated the artificial side of life here, who had made him realize what true forgiveness and true kindness really were.

He snorted to himself humorlessly. "Out of a _Romafeller_ no less."

"_You've never seen the ugly side that comes with a Romafeller connection."_

She'd been right. He never knew what she had been born into or how many years of this she'd already endured. She made it no secret that she had overheard her share of hurtful words and painful rumors.

"_For your sake…."_

His sake? The words came back from their conversation that afternoon. She'd been concerned that he was going to take on her reputation if they were seen together.

"_Romafeller and Winner…."_

She was right. Shaking his head he finally moved from his position, noting that he'd made himself stiff from being there too long. Standing, he looked out at the mostly undeveloped section, the lights still too dim to make out much.

No, Dorothy wasn't doing anything to diminish his reputation. She had done nothing but be a friend and a good partner to him. She couldn't help her name any more than he could his, and she made no excuses for her lineage.

Neither would he.

And he had no intentions of letting someone else decide for them what they meant to each other.

* * *

Slipping quietly down the stairs at six thirty in the morning, Quatre entered the kitchen in the back of the house, before remembering that there wasn't a thing in there anymore. Shrugging, he figured he'd slip out and get himself a newspaper or something to do while he waited for Dorothy to wake up.

He searched half the house for a slip of paper to write her a note before he realized that it was six thirty in the morning and that he probably had two hours before she'd even stir. Possibly more, considering her usual tendencies to ignore early mornings entirely.

He'd be lucky to see her before ten.

He added his keys to his pocket, but by the time he was out the door, he figured a walk would do him good, and he had the time to kill.

* * *

Dorothy rolled over one more time and tried to keep her eyes closed so that she wouldn't have to notice that the sun was already up—that the lights were already on.

She sighed, and finally flipped onto her back again. Her covers were a disaster, and her pillows were haphazardly bunched on either side of her, leaving her head against the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, she silently pleaded for some birds, or traffic, or a radio, maybe a leaky bathroom facet, anything. She could even put up with Abdul's snoring—from the next room—if she could get it.

Searching the bedside table, she looked for the clock. Quatre was typically an early riser; maybe she should just stop trying. But not finding the typical alarm clock, she scanned the room, only to remember that it was probably packed and back at Winner Manor by now.

She was tired and restless all at the same time. She never slept peacefully on Colony unless she all but passed out after a few days there. But last night she had a whole collection of other things on her mind.

More like _everything_ on her mind. Not the least of which was her poor, dear partner. Quatre was angry, and that was not something she had really seen in him before. At first it had been rather amusing to think of him being so completely pissed off with someone. But when it didn't subside as she expected, it began to worry her.

She'd ended up spending a couple hours sitting on the floor in his room doing nothing but babble about anything that came to mind. She couldn't remember a single conversation topic, but in truth, she just wanted to be sure that he had calmed down before she left him alone.

Paranoid, yes, but she just didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone with those types of thoughts rolling around. Not that she felt he'd be a danger to anyone, but… well, even she knew by now that Quatre had a habit of trying to worry himself to death.

He hadn't been listening to her anyway, she knew it. It didn't matter. There had to be something in all of that worthless drivel she'd spouted off that would make him feel better.

She almost chuckled to herself. She was really going to have to work on her supportive side. She didn't figure her typical snide, sarcastic comments were going to accomplish as much as they usually did with the more self-righteous male egos. Quatre always made things difficult.

Viciously kicking the covers off, she groaned to herself and made her way towards the shower.

* * *

Quatre wandered back through the neighborhood—if it could be called that yet. Most of the plots were already purchased around his house, but few of them had started building yet. Out of sheer curiosity, he took the side street back to the house, casually looking over the progress on some of the homes along the way.

It was good to see the colony starting to take in people and grow. It made the whole project worthwhile.

Coming up from behind the house, he noticed an odd addition to his home's exterior. Pausing by the wall around the back patio, he watched curiously as Dorothy stood on the balcony outside her room. Both of their rooms covered the back wall of the house, and both had a small private balcony, mostly for decoration.

But apparently they had both found a use for them today. He watched as she simply stood there, leaning against the railing, boredly watching the curve of the sparsely built colony. Quatre wondered if there was something troubling her to bring her outside, but she didn't seem particularly upset.

Figuring he'd overestimated her ability to sleep last night, he quietly slipped past the patio wall, and in through the gate next to the house's corner. Setting down the collection of items he'd bought, he positioned himself just underneath her, and then stepped out to look up at her.

Every cheesy "balcony scene" he'd ever heard of popped to mind, but he quickly found one he couldn't resist. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," he smirked.

Dorothy started, and looked down at him as he backed up into fuller view. She blinked and then chuckled at him. "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin?" she asked, amused.

"I don't think those go together," he commented.

Shrugging she laughed at him. "Sounds good to me." Eyeing him, she blinked again. "Aren't you supposed to be in here?"

He gave her a weary smile, "I didn't expect you to be up so early."

She sighed, and slumped farther over the railing. "I didn't expect me to be up this early either. What time is it?"

He chuckled over the comment. "Probably a little after seven by now."

She visibly wilted. "Why me?" she muttered.

On closer inspection, he noted that she was fully dressed already and her hair was still wet. "What time is your flight home?" he asked, wondering if she would be leaving early.

"Four this afternoon," she muttered. "But you don't need to stay because of me. I know you were supposed to be with the others on the resource station."

He brushed it off. "They'll probably have it finished by the time I get there anyway."

She nodded with a smirk, "Well, I wouldn't want to _keep_ you."

He sighed at the comment; it wasn't the first she'd made about their playful exchange from yesterday. She'd played up the "hurt" at his not wanting to "keep" her when he'd had the others dump her out of her chair during their moving. He should have known to choose his words better by now.

Agreeing to continue their conversation inside, he slipped back in and placed the items on the kitchen counter. Dorothy came down as well, a casual pair of slacks and a simple shirt gracing her figure. Her feet were still bare, and he honestly had to smile behind her back.

He'd gotten rather used to her in pretty much anything. After two and a half weeks aboard the _Star Grazer_, he'd become very used to her casual side. Which included t-shirts, tank tops and sleep pants that she had no shame in wearing in front of their group. And after a year of working with her on and off, he was also used to her business attire and even formal wear.

He'd figured out that she was beautiful in anything, and the fact that she was comfortable enough to be casual around him only added to that in his mind.

It was that comfort level that she was trying to help him with last night. He'd realized that some time during his walk this morning. Poor Dorothy, she'd been trying. He just hadn't let her.

Rifling through the sack, he pulled out the little present he had bought for her and handed it to her as she hopped up on the counter beside him. "I got you a thank you gift," he chuckled.

She raised an eyebrow, and then looked at the muffin in her hands. "Chocolate chip," she laughed. "How did you know?"

He chuckled at her and shook his head. "I've decided that there are a good many things I'll never understand about you. I have to settle for just knowing."

"Really?" she cooed, and his blood immediately turned cold. Eyeing her, Quatre realized he was a little too far within reach to be safe from that tone of voice. Meeting his eyes, she smirked. "Well, just in case you get the urge, my favorite flowers are orchids and roses, and my favorite color is sparkly."

And he burst out laughing. Turning away, he couldn't help but groan at the comment. "I think I'll stick to chocolate," he finally muttered when he could.

"That'll work too," she sighed happily. "So what did I do to deserve this?"

He scooted one of the cups of coffee closer to her. "You put up with me," he answered honestly. "I'm not sure I got enough sugar in that, by the way," he motioned to the coffee cup. Dorothy preferred just enough coffee to water down her cream and sugar, and he was slowly becoming an expert at it.

She took a tentative sip, and nodded. "You're getting better."

"I didn't figure I could find you a caramel latté here yet," he chuckled.

She giggled at him and unwrapped her muffin. "Well thank you. But putting up with you doesn't really call for a chocolate sacrifice."

He sighed, leaning against the counter next to her. "I'm not so sure." She gave him an odd look as she chewed. "I'm sorry I let it get to me like that."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "Quatre, I'm not sure you know this or not, but you are allowed to get angry with people every now and then. Especially when they're being hateful." She paused to make sure she was making strong enough eye contact. "Stop apologizing for someone else's mistakes."

He gave her a weary expression. "I'm not apologizing for what was said. I'm apologizing for keeping you up for hours trying to make me feel better."

She chuckled lightly, "Oh, you weren't listening anyway."

He faltered, "Sorry…."

"That's it!" Quatre dodged just in time as she jumped off the counter and tossed her muffin behind her as she made a grab for his throat in mock violence. Spinning around he moved to where the island counter stood between the two of them. "I'm going to cure you of that if it kills me," she stated pointedly.

He couldn't hold back laughing at her. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he muttered.

"Winner!"

"This is the thanks I get for buying you chocolate."

"You need to work on your delivery," she grumbled.

He smiled at her, "Sorry."

Throwing her head back she let out a frustrated groan. "This is my punishment, isn't it?" she stated, looking straight up as if pleading for Godly intervention. Sighing, she slumped, "I do need chocolate to put up with you."

He laughed at her until he was sure it was safe to return to the other side of the counter. "Truce?" he asked, holding up both hands.

She hopped back up to her original position. "Haven't you heard, Master Winner? We're at peace," she echoed.

"Only for peaceful people," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." She rolled her eyes, and took a vicious bite out of her muffin instead. He sobered somewhat, still wanting to accomplish something. "Really, Dorothy, thank you."

She scrutinized him a moment longer. Setting the muffin down again, she braced herself up with her hands. "I didn't bring this up before, but I'm taking a wild guess that what you overhead was not entirely centered on you last night, was it?"

He blinked at her, a bit confused.

She sighed, her expression softening. "I've been around these things a lot longer than you have, dear. And by your reaction, I'd say there was more to it than a few unflattering comments."

Quatre swallowed, not wanting to tell her anything more than he already had. But apparently she was waiting for him to confirm her suspicions. "There were other things said," he turned away enough so she couldn't see his eyes.

"Ah, that bad," she commented.

"I don't want to get into it," he stated softly, trying to leave it at that.

"Because at least part of it was about me," she finished. His back stiffened, and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. There was a small sigh from her. "Quatre, I can take more than a few good guesses at what was said. Trust me, there is nothing new I haven't heard."

She slipped off the counter, and slowly walked over to the kitchen window. He watched her pace away from him, her expression neutral, but he knew that things like this ate at her too. Silently he closed his eyes and cursed himself for being so transparent.

"I am sorry for getting you mixed up with it."

He snapped his attention back to her. She hadn't moved. Standing with her arms crossed behind her back. "Dorothy…?"

"Quatre, the main reason why I wanted in on this project was to be able to work up my courage to finally apologize to you and put that part of my life behind me," she stated quietly. "But I promised myself that I would not harm you by being here." She turned back to look at him, "I lost sight of that, and I should never have released my involvement."

He balked. This project was her way of showing her good faith in a time of peace. She wanted a way to re-invent her name, making it something besides being synonymous with Romafeller. Now she wanted to throw it away before she could finally see the benefit of it because…. "Harm me?"

She gave him a patient look and then slowly turned back to the window. "The members of Romafeller had a number of odd sayings. One of which stated that 'no woman is worth your reputation. Because if she is, she'll have it'."

He watched her profile incredulously. "I don't exactly care about your gender."

"You don't care about a lot of things that you should."

He bristled at the comment, his anger from the night before coming back. "I'm not going to let someone else decide for me who I care about and who I don't."

"Nothing is ever simple or easy, and nothing ever looks like what it is on the outside," she stated softly, not turning to look at him. "I suggest you be a bit more careful about whom you care about in public."

And just as quickly as it came, the anger died out of his chest, leaving it cold and empty as he looked at her. "You don't mean that," he whispered. She couldn't….

He saw her eyes close against her next words. "I've hurt you once. I have no intentions of trying that again. And I am in a position to do more damage this time."

"Dorothy…." He froze, trying to sort out what to say.

She slowly turned back to look at him, a deep-seated sadness in her eyes that he wasn't sure if he saw or felt. "I guess I really don't make very good company," she tried.

That snapped him out of it, the anger flooding back. "So you're going to martyr yourself for me?"

She blinked, obviously taken aback by the tone.

Coming around the counter, he stepped up to her. Taking a hold of both arms he softly turned her to face him. "There are things that I have no intention of sacrificing to my position, or my name. If I have to fight a losing battle to keep my friends, I'll do it, because I'm not changing." He stared into her surprised eyes, nearly begging for her to understand him. "You should know this better than anyone," he whispered.

The plea visually got to her, and she lowered her face from him. It wasn't until then that he realized that she didn't want to say this any more than he wanted to hear it.

Softly, he stepped in closer to her, his feelings replaced by a scared worry. "Nothing is worth losing them to me. And your past doesn't make you an exception."

That straightened her chin, and he was shocked to find the hard set to her eyes. "I am always an exception," she stated distinctly.

He watched her collect herself again, at a loss for anything to say.

"Losing me is not the issue," she finally let her expression soften as she searched his eyes. "You can't." She swallowed and looked away again. "But I'm still far too poisonous to be close to."

Quatre stepped in again, releasing her arms to encircle his own around her shoulders. Silently refuting her words, he brought her in close, hugging her tightly. "Our names might have trouble getting along," he whispered into her hair. "But please let me keep the rest of you."

There was a soft chuckle from her as he felt her return a hug of her own. "That's one I haven't heard before," she sighed. "…Deal."

* * *

"What is most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine." - Susan Sontag

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	4. Chapter 4

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 4 

Abdul happily waved goodbye as Captain Rasid and a few others drove off from the front of Master Quatre's mansion. A small group had turned out to see them off as they made a trip to Earth and the Maguanac base for a few weeks.

"Everybody smile and wave," he stated through his teeth as the others watched the car leave. Once it crossed the gates and turned onto the street, he dropped the act and started laughing. "Finally!"

Master Quatre turned over his shoulder at him and gave him a confused expression.

With a wide grin, he and Ahmed grabbed each of Quatre's arms and dragged the younger man back into the house. "We've been waiting two weeks for this," he chuckled as the whole group hurried back inside.

"We should be ashamed of ourselves," Ahmed mumbled lightly, but the fact that he couldn't keep a straight face either didn't help his act.

The two burst out laughing again and the rest of the group gave them odd looks.

"What's going on?" Quatre asked as he tried to keep pace with the two men who were dragging him through the house.

"You'll see," Abdul lowered his glasses enough to wink back at him.

"Why does that automatically mean I'm going to be the one in trouble?"

The two second-in-commands dragged Quatre, almost literally, into the downstairs library. The group that had seen Rasid and the others off followed along, apparently in the dark about what was happening, but having been informed to be there.

By the time they all packed themselves around the library's media center, Quatre was tossed down onto the couch with four of the others. Taking a glance around, he picked out approximately twenty in all, and he hadn't even thought there were that many on colony.

Opening the media cabinet, Abdul flipped on the screen and began fiddling with the controls. "We found a few things of interest when we moved you out of the house on the new colony," he informed him.

Ahmed smiled through his mustache and nodded. "Most importantly, the security recordings from the Operations Office during our time there."

"Security recordings…?" Quatre suddenly paled. Given the group, especially being orchestrated by Abdul and Ahmed, it meant that there was something on those recordings that was not… typical office work. Racking his brain, he tried to come up with anything that could be considered so horribly embarrassing that they had conned half the corp. into being here for it.

Still coming up empty, at least as far as he was concerned, he glanced around the room for anyone trying to hide or run away. Finally he just turned back to Abdul, who was cuing up a date range from the recordings.

Shrugging, he figured it was going to be shown no matter what. The next thought that came to mind had him a little worried though. "…Should I remind you guys that I'm still underage?"

The group cracked up, and Abdul and Ahmed both turned to give him sour looks. "Way better!" Abdul happily stated.

The group settled down to watch, as Abdul finally got to a certain date and then called up an image of the communications room, fast forwarding past several hours with no activity until a group entered. Knowing exactly where to start it, he pressed play and turned up the volume.

Quatre picked through the scene carefully and a few of the occupants started laughing already, apparently knowing what was coming. Rasid stood at the back of the room, a group of others at the controls, Abdul and Manul there as well.

And suddenly it clicked. Checking the date in the corner of the screen confirmed it. "This was when you were trying to send us a message about Marcus Delmare on our way to Mars."

The knowing group nodded, waiting for something.

Well, at least he was sure this wasn't at his expense anymore.

Suddenly the door opened behind Rasid and Dorothy sauntered into the room, one hand on her hip. The whole room leaned forward as she asked if they had gotten word to the ship yet and was told they were out of range.

Quatre had heard this story five times, but was never exactly sure how far to take the exaggerations of the team present for it. This would put an end to that… even though he did feel like he was spying on them.

"Surely there is someone on the satellite who we could talk to," Rasid said from the screen.

"What good would that do?" There was a pause as the group on the screen contemplated it. "What else do we have that can reach Mars?"

"We have a resource scout ship. It would have enough fuel to get there, but would need to be re-supplied to get back."

"All we need to do is get there," Dorothy stated.

"Yes. Get the ship prepared, we will leave immediately," Rasid called to the group.

"I will accompany you."

Quatre blinked as the rest of the room leaned even farther in. He was rather familiar with Dorothy's assertiveness, but….

Rasid looked rather annoyed, even with the high camera angle. "This will not be a job for you, Lady Dorothy."

"This is not a job; this is, very likely, a rescue party."

And then he did it. Rasid was famous for being intimidating even among the friends gathered here; it was what kept his rank among them. Turning towards her, away from the camera, he straightened those broad shoulders and spoke to her solidly. "The scout ship is very small. There is only room for four individuals, and it is not fitted for this long of a flight. It will not be comfortable."

And Dorothy's sour expression stilled the room behind Quatre. "Do you believe I will take up too much room?"

The resounding "ooh" from the group was quiet as they waited with ingrained fear for the next lines.

"I am afraid that you will need to remain here," Rasid barked.

"If you're so afraid of it, perhaps you should stay behind." And every one of them choked on their held breaths. Quatre stared openly at the screen, feeling afraid for her even though this was months in the past.

They could see Rasid's back stiffen at the comment. "Master Quatre would never allow—"

"'Master Quatre' isn't here, Captain," Dorothy spat right back. "He's on his way to face someone you know nothing about, and he gets closer every moment you argue with me."

Rasid visibly reined himself in from his initial reaction to the insubordinate woman. "The men in this room have an oath to him. You have no such reason for accompanying us."

And that was when the slow smirk Quatre knew all too well slipped into view. "Perhaps I don't. But I have the remains of my crew in more trouble than he is out there. Make me swear anything you like, but I am going with you."

The two stood in a silent battle of wills for a long second until Dorothy was apparently satisfied that she had won. Turning on her heel, she nearly added injury to insult as her hair slapped him in the chest as she strode back out, not another word needed.

Rasid again straightened his shoulders, realigning himself and then called the group to begin work on the ship. Those who were present in the room apparently too tongue-tied to do anything but follow along.

Abdul reached up to pause the playback as the whole room seemed to remember to breath, and then all of them started to crack up at their _fearless_ Captain's expense.

No wonder they had waited until he was headed off colony.

Abdul commented that they all officially knew the beginning of the "legend of Mistress Dorothy" now, and if they didn't believe them before, they needed to now. The rest turned into a buzz of conversation around the room.

Quatre dropped his head into his hands and realized that even he had been underestimating just exactly what lengths she would go to.

He finally came back to himself after the third slap on the back and various comments about his choice of "girlfriends."

"Don't worry, Master Quatre. If you ever dump her, we'll _try_ to protect you."

"Yeah, all forty of us!"

"We're going to have to recruit new members."

"We need to start accepting girls."

The others cracked up, and Quatre just couldn't bring himself to feel abashed about the comments with the amount of laughter in the room. Poor Dorothy didn't even know what she had gotten herself into, and with this, she was forever going to be immortalized with the Corp. even more than before.

"No way, she'd make us all look bad!"

"Yeah! 'Don't mess with the Maguanac Corp. or our girlfriends will beat you up'."

"OK, whoa!" Abdul whistled to get their attention back. When the noise died down he was back at the controls. "Believe it or not, that's not actually the best part," he smiled.

Quatre waited, silently afraid that this was going to go downhill from here.

Flipping through the navigation again, he picked the same day and time, but a different camera. This one showed the main hallway instead. He cued it up and they all watched an empty hallway for a minute.

Finally the door to the communications room opened and Dorothy stepped out alone, obviously just after their conversation. She stopped as the door shut again, and she visually sighed. The group chuckled lightly at catching her expressing that the argument had at least taken something out of her.

Raising a hand to rub her temple, she started off again down the hall. Abdul pushed the volume up even farther, and the group heard her mumble to herself. "Quatre, if these guys kill me, I'm going to haunt you."

And again he dropped his head into his hands as the whole room burst out laughing.

"I wouldn't mind being haunted by her."

"She'd be one heck of a poltergeist."

"Just what we need, a pissed off Lady Dorothy for all eternity."

Groaning to himself, Quatre jumped to his feet and turned to face the group. "I absolutely forbid any of you to ever kill her! I'm not taking any chances," he laughed.

They continued to laugh as well, and several went so far as to call him a chicken and he hopelessly admitted to it.

"We're going to have to up your training if you intend to take her on again, Master Quatre."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Adbul leaned an elbow onto his shoulder. "I'm suddenly thankful that she didn't have a mobile suit during the war."

He nodded in agreement, specifically deciding not to inform them that Dorothy had been the one behind the mobile doll controls instead. He'd already told them about her involvement in White Fang, mostly to explain how he ended up stabbed during the battle.

Ahmed suddenly decided to take on the task of relating the events of her rescue of them from Marcus on Mars, being helped along by all the ones who were there. None of their explanations really matched and he was sure he remembered a different version too, but he let the others have their fun.

Poor Rasid would never truly live this down. But Quatre was also well aware of their Captain's newfound respect and fondness for her. Somewhere between Earth and Mars, the two had allied themselves quite well.

And to be fair, there was absolutely nothing to do but what he did. Quatre wouldn't have been any different if it had been him. He knew more than anyone not to test Dorothy's command tactics, and she had been dead set on getting there somehow.

Again he wondered at why exactly she felt it was so necessary to be there herself. There was something else that she had never related to him about why she wanted to be there. But he figured she had her reasons, and he intended to enjoy the idea that she was just plain worried about him—them.

"So, Master Quatre," Auda ventured from the back thoughtfully. "If we don't kill her and she's not haunting you… does that mean she's available?"

The room laughed again, and Quatre finally nodded. "I'm sure Lady Dorothy would appreciate any suitors," he started. As the group "oohed" again, he smiled, "But I don't know if any of us have a chance."

* * *

"Quatre!"

Now what? Spinning around, he found Aleigha brandishing a newspaper and stalking down the Manor's third floor corridor. One of his eldest sisters, Aleigha was one of the few who had taken an interest in the family business. Her presence usually indicated that he'd done something against policy and she was here to straighten him out.

"Aleigha, what did I do wrong now?" he asked with a smile as she tracked towards him and his personal office's doorway.

"You need a sisterly chat," she stated point-blank.

Quatre resisted the urge to shrink a few inches and run away. Instead, he attempted to keep the smile in place, and hoped it didn't look as much like a cringe as it felt. "Why's that?"

"Inside, if you please," she stated, motioning him into the office as she came up beside him.

When a woman of your own flesh and blood nearly twelve years your senior orders you into a room, you tend to do it. It didn't matter how old you were or what position you held. So, turning on his heel, he opened the door and held it for her to enter before closing it behind them. "Is there something you needed?" he tried.

She sighed and tossed the paper down on top of the stack of items on his desk. He'd already seen it.

She leaned back against his desk corner and motioned him to take the chair, her brown eyes leaving no room for him to argue with her. She had more than just their father's eye color; she also had that stern, steely look of his when she wasn't pleased. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation and he knew it.

Taking the chair, he glanced at the picture in front of him. It was just a quick snapshot from the new colony's ribbon cutting ceremony a few weeks ago. Nothing special… except that it caught him and Dorothy together in the background, looking on as the newly elected governor made his thank you speech.

And some reporter was worth his salary for getting every person correctly identified in the caption below it.

"Well, you've made the monthly society page," she started.

Looking up at her, he decided to stay quiet until he knew exactly what it was he was being reprimanded for.

Apparently she was finished with waiting for him to start, so she stood back to full height, picking up the paper again. "'Lady Dorothy Catalonia and Quatre Raberba Winner, of Winner Enterprises.'" she read from the caption. Looking back at him, she gave him a maternal glare. "Mind telling me when we started employing 'Lady Dorothy Catalonia'?"

Somehow, Quatre hadn't exactly expected this kind of fallout. "We're not. She's an investor."

"In the building project?"

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow. "And so you felt obligated to escort her to the ceremony?"

Quatre tried to bite back the sigh. "She was also a partner in the deal. She was my negotiator on the parts and materials, and—"

Aleigha held up a hand to stop him. "_Lady_ Dorothy Catalonia?"

His jaw clenched as he gnashed his teeth together. Getting them apart again, he nodded, "Yes."

"Am I the only one who's figured out she's a Romafeller?"

That was the wrong way to phrase that with him at this point. "She is not a Romafeller."

The sentence must have come out a bit harsher than he meant it to because her expression backed down.

"She may have family ties to the Foundation, but that does not somehow endow her with any specific characteristics," he stated sharply. Of all the people he figured he was going to have to explain himself to, he'd never have thought his family would be the first ones.

"But it does endow her with their reputation," she stated quietly.

The tone eased the flash of anger out of him again, even if he didn't feel like he should have to defend her from his own sister.

"Quatre, you haven't been at this very long, but you should still know better than this."

"Better than what?" he asked incredulously. "She was my partner on the project. Dorothy had as much right to be there as I did."

Again she held up a hand to quiet him. "I'm not talking about the ceremony. How much do you really know about this girl?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I know her quite well."

"Well enough to know her intentions?"

He looked back up to watch her turn her back on him and pace around his desk, her wavy blond hair silently staring back at him. "What do you mean?"

"Quatre," she turned back to him across the desk, "I trust your judgment of people, but nothing you do will take this label off of her." Putting the paper back on the desk, she leaned over it. "Our reputations have been made through generations, just like theirs. The difference is that we've tried to maintain a good name for ourselves, and Romafeller didn't bother. I want you to remember that it wouldn't take much for someone to try to use our name to get in good with the Colonies."

Quatre sighed bitterly, "Since when have we had a good name with the Colonies either?"

"We have a better one than Romafeller does."

"I'm beginning to notice that."

"Quatre," there was a soft edge to her voice that got him to look up at her again. "I'm worried." She met his eyes and he could tell that she genuinely was. "I just don't like the looks of this."

And then he finally understood. He'd gotten it backwards, she wasn't trying to discredit Dorothy, she was just being protective of him.… "What do you want me to say?" he asked, trying to find whatever it was that she needed to know in order to trust his judgment.

She again raised an eyebrow and turned away from him. "I want you to say 'oops, sorry, I'll avoid her from now on,' but I don't think you're going to."

He nearly chuckled at her bad imitation. "No, I'm not going to."

She looked back at him from the corner of her eye before sighing. "I didn't figure."

"Aleigha, you haven't met her, you don't know what she's like," he offered.

She took a sideways seat on his desk and gave him a dubious look. "Sweet, gentle, innocent, all around sparkling soul?" she batted her eyes at him.

That honestly did get him to laugh. "She's a negotiator, not a nanny."

"Really?" she drawled.

He rolled his eyes just for her benefit. "Quick-witted, typically sarcastic, relentless, commanding…" he trailed off when he saw the eyebrow rise again. "What?"

"But she doesn't have any typical Romafeller characteristics, huh?"

He gave her a weary smile. "I said the Foundation didn't automatically endow her with any, I didn't say she was a push over."

Aleigha closed her eyes with a shake of her head. "Little brother, what am I going to do with you?" Looking her in the eye again, he could tell he still hadn't alleviated the worry from her. "But how well do you really _know_ her?"

He studied his sister a few seconds before closing his eyes with a smile. Standing up he paced back to the window on the far wall. "I met her before this… during the war, Aleigha." Looking out at the surrounding neighborhood, he thought back to Dorothy and the things that she had admit once she opened up to him. He swallowed a deep breath, "I may know her better than anyone else does."

There were actually only a handful of his sisters who knew what he had done during the war. Most of the rest thought he had been safe here until their father's death. It wasn't like the group was close at all; in truth, they were so distant and scattered that there was still a large group of them who he wouldn't recognize if confronted. And apparently their father hadn't wanted the shame of telling them that Quatre had not only joined a resistance movement, but had become a Gundam pilot.

Iria, Aleigha and a few others that were closer and older, their father had confided in. And they knew that Quatre had all but disowned himself by leaving for Earth in Sandrock. None of them had ever brought it up for general conversation, and after the war they had easily begun walking him through the steps to reinstate himself as the heir to their father's position. He figured they just honestly didn't want to know what had happened to him… possibly afraid of what they'd learn.

He felt Aleigha come up behind him, and he turned when she settled a hand on his shoulder. "And you're sure she wouldn't stab you in the back?" He tried not to chuckle at the choice of words. "Absolutely sure that she's not using you to get in good with someone else?"

He blinked. "She is using the project to try to find a way to show that she's not 'a Romafeller.' I know that. It was the first thing she told me she wanted when we discussed this. But she would never use me," he answered her honestly.

There was still a dubious expression to his sister's eyes, but she shook it off. "You're the one with the weird people skills," she shrugged.

He laughed at the comment and turned to face her fully. Straightening his back, he tried to make up the small height difference between them. "Don't worry. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."

The tone made her laugh before she pulled him into a hug. Stepping back she cupped his face in her hands and met his eyes, thoroughly amused. "Through a war, yes. With a woman… I'm not so sure."

* * *

Dorothy rushed through her things as she threw together a couple suitcases and a week's worth of personal items. Throwing everything into the two suitcases that she hadn't completely finished unpacking from her last trip, she zipped them closed.

Hurrying down the stairs, she punched up a number in her phone and sighed when she got an answering machine. "Hi Felicia, it's Dorothy. I'm going to be away from home for a week, maybe a little more. If you could just keep an eye on the place for me, I'd appreciate it. See you when I get back. Thanks!" She hung up, hoping that her maid/friend wasn't on vacation somewhere with her family this week too.

Setting the suitcases down next to the door, she moved into her office and collected the Mars information she was going to need. Gathering her things, she started to unplug her laptop too, before she thought better of it.

Glancing at the clock, she figured she had just a couple minutes. Sitting down at her desk she typed in a quick note to Quatre, knowing it was the one thing he could check from wherever he was at.

_On my way to pick up the lost Mags and bring them home. Be about a week. – Dorothy_

Sending the little note, she figured he'd understand if she kept it short. She'd told him that they would be coming back with the next ship; it was just that she hadn't planned to be on that next ship. After this official turnover, Commander Anexel, originally of the _Romulus_, could worry about all of this stuff. She was more than ready to go back to being a quiet investor.

Closing up the laptop, she stuffed it under one arm, grabbed the rest of her things, and headed for the door.

* * *

"Patterning your life around others' opinions is nothing more than slavery." - Lawana Blackwell

AN: The background that I know on Quatre's sisters will be coming into play at some point. The idea that he didn't even recognize Iria in the series when he met her is what is giving me most of my information, since we just really don't know much.

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: OK, after a long debate, no one seems to know for sure what happened to poor Iria in the series, so I'm going to go with her as having lived through the ordeal and all better by now. So simply for the sake of not having to invent another sister, I'll use her too. (You wouldn't know it, but I usually hate original characters.) Besides, I liked her. :)

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 5

"Four soldiers returned, Captain," Dorothy reported as the men followed her down Winner Manor's narrow entryway foyer towards Rasid and Quatre. "I think I even left them mostly unscathed," she shot a wink back over her shoulder as they chuckled at her.

Her group had arrived late by the time they got free of the Mars Satellite, and if they weren't totally thrown off by the time difference, they certainly were once they moved through three different time zones to get here. Their internal clocks were set to sometime in the afternoon, not eight o'clock at night.

"Good to have you back," Rasid commented to the four as they filed past into the main greeting room, shaking hands with both of their superiors.

"I'm hoping Mars treated you well," Quatre stated.

The four nodded, but added comments that the food hadn't gotten any better since they'd left. Dorothy silently agreed, figuring if she saw another nutrition bar she was going to give up eating altogether.

Catching her eye, Quatre held out a hand to her and she took it with a smile. He easily pulled her in and pecked a kiss on her knuckles while the other guys "oohed" at them. Looking up he blinked at them and then comically shook it off. "I get that more often these days…."

Dorothy couldn't help but laugh at the display. Turning, she returned Rasid's bow of greeting with her typical curtsy. "Gentlemen, you'd think you've missed me," she cooed.

The other four were very well versed in her teasing by now and groaned at her instead. Giving them a sour look she brushed them off, "Oh, go unpack something."

They laughed and Manul shrugged. "Where are we going from here?"

Rasid motioned up the main stairway on the opposite wall. "Nowhere tonight. We'll head back for the number 3 Resource Station tomorrow."

The four nodded and headed off. However, they were blocked as a young woman came bounding down the stairs, happily smiling at them. Manul met her at the bottom of the staircase and picked her up off the bottom step when she reached him, pulling her into a tight hug.

Dorothy blinked as the other guys sighed and specifically cleared them a space. Stepping closer to Quatre, she whispered into his ear. "I didn't realize I was separating a happy couple."

He chuckled shyly at her and nodded. Once the two pulled away enough from each other to be sociable again, he raised a hand towards the young brunette. "Dorothy Catalonia, this is my sister Nashita Winner."

"Oh," they both echoed.

Nashita chuckled a bit nervously as she disconnected from Manul's arms and headed towards her. Dorothy smiled as she extended her hand, noting the familiar blue-green eyes and the family resemblance in the young woman, probably college age. "Nice to finally meet a sister," she stated.

The other easily returned her smile and handshake. "Nice to finally meet you too, Mistress Dorothy."

Dorothy was immediately deflated and turned a suspicious look back at Quatre who was doing a poor job of trying not to cringe. "Sorry…."

"Oops," Nashita started, glancing back at Manul who was trying vainly to hold back his laughter.

Dorothy waved it off. "That's been a long debate," she explained. "My actual title is Lady, but please just call me Dorothy. These guys can't be trusted with anything else." She cleared her throat at the group that stood snickering together next to the stairs.

Nashita laughed merrily at her and then raised a hand to her hip to stare back at her—interest, boyfriend, husband—whatever Manul was. "Odd what sorts of things these guys come up with."

Manul raised both hands. "I never called her that, I know better. I was there when she about skinned us all for coming up with it."

Nashita blinked and then turned back to Quatre and Rasid. "Well I know I heard it somewhere."

Rasid looked down at Quatre as the younger man sighed. "More than likely around here," he stated very quietly. Catching her eye, he shrugged, "They haven't given up yet."

Dorothy sighed pitifully. "The things I have to endure…."

Nashita chuckled at her again, "Tell me about it."

And Dorothy thought she was getting to like her already.

* * *

"I see. So you intend to marry off your sisters to the Maguanacs so that you don't have to remember in-law names. Rather sordid of you, Master Winner." 

Quatre sighed and gave her a look as Dorothy happily sipped at her teacup, watching the two over the rim of it. "They're not married, and I am not conveniently setting up my sisters," he stated just as quietly.

She raised an eyebrow and brought her cup back to its saucer in her hand. "Looks like you have a good start to me."

He gave her what he hoped was an annoyed look before casually checking to make sure the two didn't overhear them. Nashita and Manul sat close to each other on the couch around the sitting area. Rasid and the other three of Dorothy's volunteers were gathered around the side table, hashing through some of the things they had missed.

Quatre wouldn't be accompanying the group to the resource station. As usual, since he had responsibilities here, he was left out of the loop.

"You miss it, don't you?"

He started and turned back to Dorothy, who sat beside him. Their overstuffed chairs were turned slightly towards each other in the seating arrangement, and he eyed her as she quietly stared down into her cup in her lap. "Miss what?"

Looking up at him fully, she glanced at the table over his shoulder and then back again. "Getting out of the office. Physically doing something. …Being with them."

She'd caught that. He blinked at her, a bit taken aback. He hadn't gotten that far in his own thoughts this evening. Shaking that off, he looked around at the others again and then back to her. "I suppose I do," he answered honestly.

She nodded, knowingly. "I've noticed."

He gave her a good-humored smile. "Am I always this transparent?"

She retuned the smile, "No comment."

Rolling his eyes, he picked his cup back up. "It's not too late to make you get a hotel."

He just about choked on his tea when she promptly stuck her tongue out at him.

"Oh, Master Quatre, we should have warned you that we sort of corrupted her over the trip back," Manul offered, apparently seeing what had happened.

Quatre specifically put the cup down on the coffee table before sputtering to a stop. "I didn't think she was corruptible."

Dorothy giggled merrily, "Oh, it went both ways."

"That I believe," he sighed. Dorothy batted her eyes and gave him an innocent smile and he wasn't the only one who burst out laughing at the picture.

Turning it into a pout, she picked her cup back up. "Why am I always the evil one," she mumbled.

"It doesn't hurt their egos that way," Nashita added, her hand between her mouth and Manul.

"Hey!" he cried. "You just don't know her yet."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dorothy asked, mockingly indignant.

Quatre tried to hide his smile behind a fist as Manul found himself being stared down by both women.

"Uh… no offense?" he tried.

"Manul!" Nashita reprimanded him.

"I didn't mean anything… Master Quatre!" he cried for help.

Quatre held up both hands in surrender, "You're on your own with that one."

The backup group finally arrived, as the other three from the Mars team came up behind him and Nashita. "You have to admit you're not a good influence, Mistress—Lady Dorothy."

Dorothy narrowed her eyes at them and settled back in her chair. "Who said I ever meant to be?"

The group laughed, and Quatre watched Rasid come up behind their chairs, a small, uncharacteristic smile to his lips. "She was 'good' enough to save your sorry skins," he rumbled.

Dorothy gave him a backwards nod. "Thank you," she sniffed.

"Yeah, we'll give you that one," Manul waved it off.

The groups laughed and Dorothy shook her head in defeat. "What does a girl have to do to impress you guys?" she sighed.

Manul wrapped an arm around Nashita's shoulders. "Be sweet, kind and lovable," he said, looking at her instead.

Nashita blinked in surprise and then turned away with a blush coming up immediately.

Half the room made gagging noises and Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Do you have any loop holes?"

The rest laughed at her, and the three behind the couch nodded. "We should have a smart-ass exception, shouldn't we?"

"How about a kick-ass exception?"

"Guys!" Quatre immediately admonished their language in front of the ladies.

Dorothy however seemed rather taken with the idea. "Now that I can do."

Quatre gave her weary look. "Don't encourage them."

"I'm sure the Lady has much more pleasant characteristics," came a voice from the doorway.

Quatre turned to find Aleigha and Iria both leaning against the doorjamb. Surprised, he stood to his feet and motioned them in.

"Of course, she's just fun to pick on," Manul gave her a mock toast with his teacup, his arm not leaving Nashita's shoulders, although her blush darkened when she saw two of her sisters enter.

Dorothy laughingly returned it as Quatre stood between the sitting area and the newcomers. "Aleigha, Iria, I think you know everyone except Lady Dorothy Catalonia." Dorothy rose to her feet at the introduction and slipped past him. "Dorothy, you're getting the family tour this evening."

"Three for the price of one," she said with a smile, extending her hand to each of them. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," they echoed.

* * *

"I may have to warn you, I don't have a good track record with sisters." 

Quatre looked up from the payment form as Dorothy sat on top of the other side of his personal desk. He watched her as she stared into space, the comment having come from absolutely nowhere that he could tell. "What do you mean?"

Finally blinking, she turned to look down at him. "I seem to get in well with brothers, usually fathers…" she paused, thinking. "Sometimes I think I make mothers nervous, but I've never had good marks with sisters."

Quatre stared at her, confused. "…When?"

She shrugged, "Whenever I meet them."

"No, I mean… what do I mean?" he asked himself. "Whose sisters?" he tried instead.

"Friends, acquaintances… most of the guys from my class. Pretty much anybody," she sighed.

And then it finally clicked. Chuckling, he went back to the form in front of him. "That's because you're a flirt," he mumbled.

"Quatre!"

He looked up at her with a smile, a bit sheepish for actually saying that. "I thought you'd take that as a compliment."

"Not from you," she sniffed.

"Why not me?"

She opened her mouth to say something and then stopped, turning away to find something to say. "…Because."

He smiled at her as she continued trying to figure that out. Quatre didn't honestly know if he meant anything special to her or if he was just a little more fun to pick on than the rest. It was hard to tell with her coy, flirtatious nature. But he knew she cared, and knew that she had at least a friendly affection for him.

He went back to the form to let her think it over. Dorothy had made out payment to the company for the replacement parts and materials they had taken on their original trip to Mars. She was at least trying to keep one of her investment projects out of the red.

"I'm not that bad," she mumbled.

Smiling, he specifically kept his eyes on double-checking the paperwork.

"I don't hurt anyone. I'd never toy with real emotions. I don't know why I get such a bad reputation."

Quatre tried to back down the chuckle at her little singsong musings.

"Oh, stop laughing at me."

"I'm trying," he held up his hands, finally meeting her eyes.

She drummed her nails on his desk and gave him a glare.

Reaching out he laid a hand over hers to get her to stop tapping. "What are you worried about?" he asked instead.

She sniffed at him but didn't pull away. "I'm just warning you, that's all."

"You know, if you're worried about sisters, I might be the wrong person to hang around," he teased her, propping up his chin with his free hand.

"I've noticed," she sighed. "Although, I've known you how long, and I'm just now meeting them?"

He shook his head at her. "That's alright. I'm how old, and I'm still meeting them."

She started. "You're what?"

He nodded patiently. "I never knew my sisters growing up. They were mostly in boarding schools and around the various resource stations. They still are actually. Iria was the first I ever met and I didn't even recognize her. She and Nashita are from the number 3 station, which is where she met Manul. Aleigha is actually on colony here in the cluster."

Dorothy stared at him like he'd grown an extra head. "…Your own sisters."

He nodded with a sigh. "I was raised here with father, the girls were sort of scattered around, especially after my mother died I guess."

She gave him a half-confused, half-worried look. "…And that was when you were young if I remember?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Very. Same year I was born I think. I really don't know much of anything about her."

"You guys aren't normal."

He laughed at her and nodded absently. "The Winner line never really has been."

She shook her head. "And I thought I had family issues." But she looked back at him, still with that utterly confused expression. "But… they never came home for Christmas or something?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she rethought that. "…Kwanzaa?"

Sighing, he lowered his head, trying to take his hand back from her in mock irritation.

She laughed, and snagged his hand back, keeping him from leaving. "Alright, sorry, my Muslim understanding is worthless, you know that. But there's got to be a holyday somewhere, right?"

He nodded, figuring getting into a religious discussion would be about as useless as it usually was between them. "Yes, but no, they didn't come home. There were groups of them in each area, so they knew their family. And some of the older ones know a lot more than the rest of us."

"I'm assuming Aleigha is one of the older ones?" she asked.

He nodded with a smile. "You want a hint?"

"I'll take whatever I can get," she sighed.

"We seem to sort of go in alphabetical order."

Dorothy stopped again, and raised an eyebrow before shrugging. "Why not? Thirty kids, you have to have a few quirks."

He smiled up at her befuddled expression. Somehow, anything that he really thought was going to be a difficult conversation to breach never turned into one. Dorothy had a habit of taking everything in stride, and that eased him more than she would probably ever know.

He had a confidence with her that he didn't feel with most people in his life… not even his sisters, he was finding.

"So, you're the youngest?" He nodded, and she chuckled. "Seems like an awful lot of work for a boy."

Out of anyone else he would probably have been a bit hurt by that statement, especially considering their family history. But again, he just didn't feel uncomfortable with her about this. "They needed an heir," he stated. Memories flashed up in front of him, but he pushed them down again. There were some things that he didn't feel like testing Dorothy's conversation skills with yet, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be comfortable with the topic of his feelings towards his birth and childhood.

"That's kind of…."

He grimaced. "Chauvinistic and sexist?"

"I was going to say 'an overkill,' but that works too."

He blinked up at her, not expecting that.

It was her turn to give him a patient look. "You're forgetting that I grew up with that same mentality. Except mine was the opposite. Grandfather complained about having an only daughter whenever the topic came up. And then with me… well we killed off two family lines," she shrugged.

Quatre was a bit taken aback by her understanding. "So, no more Dermails?"

"Oh, Great-Uncle Marvin has a whole flock of them," she smiled.

"And the Catalonia side?"

She shook her head at that one. "Father was the only son, but I don't really know the family history on that side very well. I'm assuming there's some somewhere."

Quatre scrutinized her a moment, wondering if he might delve too deep with this. "Were they also Foundation members?"

She nodded, vaguely waving it off. "Very recent additions actually. Grandfather, the second General Catalonia, was offered a membership when he received his rank. Father received his much the same way."

"But he also married well," he smiled.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "When you always run in the same crowd your children tend to mingle." He chuckled at the phrasing. "I don't think Grandfather was all that enthused about Mother's choice of husbands, but I don't know that for sure. We didn't exactly discuss it much," she shrugged.

"We have two families that don't seem to do that," he offered.

"Something tells me your sisters talk about family ties more than you think they do."

He found her eyes again, and watched a knowing glitter pass through them. "Why's that?"

She shrugged, "Female intuition."

* * *

"I like her," Nashita bounced on her bed, her legs crossed under her. 

"She sure knows how to get the guys around her," Aleigha commented from the room's desk chair.

"She's friendly," Iria corrected her from a normal sitting position on the bed.

"They dish out just as much as she does," Nashita defended. "But, wow, does the girl have a tongue."

"We noticed," Aleigha rolled her eyes.

Iria chuckled mildly. "There was nothing wrong with what she said. She was just having fun."

"Yeah!"

Aleigha sighed. "Whatever."

"What do you have against her already?" Nashita asked.

"Nothing," she responded. "I just don't think she's a… 'good influence'," she mimicked.

Nashita paled a little. "Exactly when did you two get here?"

"We were hiding behind the door for a while," Iria stated, elbowing her in the side. "But I think we got the good parts."

Nashita's eyes widened, and then she dropped her head, the blush coming up again. "Great."

Iria rubbed her shoulder to make up for it. "I don't see where she's being any kind of influence at all," she said instead. "She just seems to be a very strong girl."

"And quick," Nashita added, happy that the conversation had turned away from her again.

"I'll give you that," Aleigha nodded. "She knows what she wants."

"The guys are totally floored with her too. Apparently she like single-handedly saved them from the bad guys on Mars."

Iria shook her head, "Why did they go to Mars again?"

Aleigha ran her hands through her shoulder length hair. "I don't know. Maybe we should ask the 'Mistress,' she'd probably tell us more than the guys do."

"Manul tells me anything," Nashita said happily. "He said that Quatre got a call for help from Vice Minister Relena when that accident happened. And then it turns out it wasn't an accident, and they got themselves in trouble with someone… or something."

"Yeah, you're going to have to take notes next time he tells you things," Aleigha laughed at her.

"Hey, he got back three hours ago, what do you expect, the screenplay?"

The three laughed, and Iria shook her head. "Vice Minister Relena. Does it ever scare you who Quatre knows?"

"I'm more afraid of him knowing the Maguanacs than of him knowing someone like Miss Relena Darlian," Aleigha answered.

"Hey!"

She rolled her eyes.

Iria held up a hand to both of them. "Girls!" She admonished them, "I think we should let Quatre make his own decisions."

"I don't think I trust him to make his own decisions. Especially with someone so… decisive," Aleigha frowned.

"Oh, come on!" Nashita moved to lie down on her stomach. "He's the president of his own company, he's survived the entire war, he's led an army of forty trained soldiers, and he's only a teenager. I think he can handle dating."

"I'd like to see him handle his voice change first."

They laughed until Iria shooshed them. "Aleigha, believe it or not, our little brother has passed that point."

The eldest in the room sighed, crossing her arms. "Not on my watch he didn't."

"What watch?" Nashita asked. "He knows all of what, five or six of us, and he's met all of us within like a year and half? He may as well be an only child."

"He basically was," Aleigha sighed. "Father wanted it that way."

"I think he just wanted Quatre beside him," Iria said gently.

The other two nodded, but Nashita glanced at the older two. "So… how come we were never told that Quatre was a Gundam pilot? I mean, if I hadn't stumbled in with the Mags, I still wouldn't know."

The two older sisters looked at her and then at each other. Iria shook her head, her blond locks falling into her face. "I think father kept holding out hope that he'd find his way back."

Aleigha nodded. "The two were so alienated from each other by then. I don't think he wanted to put anything between us kids at least."

Nashita looked curiously between the two. "When did you two find out?"

They both looked at her again. Iria gave her a smile. "Father said something to me about it when Professor H. first appeared and Quatre wouldn't let the subject of defensive weaponry drop. He was worried then, but nothing he did seemed to change Quatre's heart."

Aleigha nodded. "I had never seen father angrier than he was when Quatre left for Earth."

Nashita rose from her position to sit up again. "…You don't think Quatre blames himself for what happened, do you?"

Iria wrapped her arms around herself and the other two turned to her. She shook her head, closing her eyes a moment. "I don't know. He was so… different when he left me at the medical bay. Something really changed in him, and it… scared me."

"I'm not sure he's come to terms with it yet," Aleigha sighed. "Sometimes I know he feels like he's trying to take over father's life more than just his position."

Nashita smiled to herself. "And you guys are worried about him dating."

The two openly stared at her until Iria stole a pillow off the bed and hit her over the head with it. "I don't believe you."

"What?" she squeaked. "You're being all depressing."

Aleigha rolled her eyes and groaned. "Did they start scrambling our genetics towards the end?" she asked Iria, who promptly threw the pillow at her instead.

"Both of you quit it," Iria refereed. "You," she pointed at Aleigha, "need to remember that Quatre is not a little boy, and does not need our permission to like someone. And you," she turned back to Nashita, "need to have your boyfriend keep an eye on her for us."

They both laughed at her. "Middle child, middle of the fence. Is that your take?"

"I trust Quatre's judgment of people. I just… want to make sure he makes the right decisions in those relationships."

"That so does not make sense," Nashita rolled her eyes. "I like Dorothy. She's funny, she's a good sport, and let's face it, she's known him as long, or longer, than we have… personally anyway. Besides, she knows a heck of a lot more about his actual life than we do."

"What?" Iria asked, totally confused.

Nashita blinked at her, and Aleigha rubbed a temple. "He met her during the war, not over the building project."

"What building project?" Nashita asked. They both turned dumb looks to her until she got it. "Oh, the colony! Never mind."

"Am I the only one that keeps track of the company?" Aleigha sighed.

"Yes," the other two responded.

Throwing up a hand she waved them off.

"Wait…you said he knows her from the war?" Iria asked.

Aleight nodded, "He told me a couple weeks ago when I… well, when I first heard about her."

Nashita rolled her eyes. "You guys need to get in better with the Mags. Dorothy is like a legend among them. If she wasn't a girl, they'd being inducting her."

"Is that the whole 'Mistress' thing?" Aleigha asked.

Nashita giggled to herself. "Yeah. Apparently she totally bristled when they made the joke about dubbing her that, so now it's a running joke. Although nobody told me that part, so like an idiot I called her that to her face when we were introduced."

"How'd she take it?" Iria asked with a smile.

"She laughed it off," she shrugged. "I'm telling you, the girl's a good sport."

"I just can't get over how... controlling she is."

"Hum… controlling, sharp tongued, not afraid to speak her mind… I think I have a sister like that," Iria smiled.

She and Nashita both laughed, dodging as the pillow Aleigha had been holding came flying back at them. "I wouldn't be dating our brother," she sniffed.

"Says the old maid of the family," Nashita muttered half under her breath.

"At least I'm not dating a Maguanac!"

"Hey, our bother is a Maguanac," she snapped back.

"Like I said, I wouldn't be dating him."

Iria cracked up, falling back onto her side on the bed. "You two fight this one out on your own."

Nashita stuck her tongue out at her. "The two aren't dating anyway. You're getting all excited about nothing."

"She's already got his nickname," Iria mumbled. "From what I've seen it won't be long."

"I hope they do. They're so cute!" Nashita gushed.

Aleigha sighed. "Oh, yes, won't that be cute. 'Romafeller marries Colony elite.'"

"Romafeller?" they both asked, Iria sitting up at the comment.

She blinked at the two. "Oops, did I forget to mention that?"

"What's a Romafeller?" Nashita whispered to Iria.

The two stared at her a moment. "Were you alive during the war?"

"Hey!"

"Miss Relena, Queen of the World, OZ founders, you know… Romafeller?"

"Oh!" she squeaked, then blushed. "Sorry."

"Miss Relena… why couldn't he date Miss Relena?" Aleigha mused.

"Nothing like aiming high, huh?" Iria laughed at her.

"No wonder you're not married," Nashita muttered again.

This time Iria gave her a mild push to hush her up. "Anyway, what's the Romafeller thing?"

Aleigha finished giving her younger sister a glare and returned to the topic. "_Lady_ Dorothy Catalonia. A little research goes a long ways. She happens to be Duke Dermail's granddaughter."

Iria balked, "The head of Romafeller during OZ's campaign?"

Aleigha nodded with a sigh. "I'm beginning to wonder just how our dear brother stumbled onto her during the war."

"…But he died," Iria said quietly. The other two turned to regard her until she shook her thoughts back. "Duke Dermail was killed by an attack in space." Looking between the two, she took on a worried expression. "Miss Dorothy lost her grandfather then."

"Wonder if they were close?" Nashita said out loud. The other two shrugged. "Well, one thing remains. Dorothy knows his past better than we do. And whatever she is, I think they're cute together."

Iria smiled, turning it towards Aleigha's sour expression. "They really are cute together. And they seem very… comfortable."

"She just seems... coy," Aleigha muttered again.

The two on the bed sighed. "Aleigha, give it up. You're out numbered."

"Are we taking a vote?" she asked incredulously. "Should we invite the whole family, or just the ones he can remember?"

"Two to one, you lose, Dorothy stays," Nashita snipped.

"Like we're going to have any bearing on their relationship anyway," Iria laughed.

Aleigha twitched an eyebrow. "Nashita, why exactly did Manul 'volunteer' to stay on Mars for her?"

"He felt indebted to her," she answered, giving her a warning glare.

"Funny that Quatre didn't want to stay. Or Rasid, he seems rather taken with her too."

"They couldn't stay," she sniffed. "They had to be here." She gave them a smile, "Besides, maybe Quatre wanted to be with her on a ship in the middle of empty space for a couple days." She wiggled her eyebrows at the two until they both choked.

"Nashita!"

The youngest laughed herself into collapsing again on the bed.

"And you're studying to be a psychiatrist?" Iria asked, taken aback.

* * *

"Families are like fudge… mostly sweet with a few nuts." – Author Unknown 

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	6. Chapter 6

_Revelations_  
By Isis  
Chapter 6 

The early morning fog was still thick and low over the ground when Dorothy's taxi crawled along the driveway's gravel. The driver was obviously looking for a substantial tip by offering to carry her luggage up to the doors for her, but she had no intentions of traipsing the man all the way up the imposing, stair-stepped path. Instead, she directed him around the side and into the private parking area. There she paid him and took her own bags.

Dorothy Catalonia, now the Lady of Chateau du Brume Gris, was not exactly looking forward to the homecoming. The mammoth, gray-rock mansion had stood through twelve generations of her family line, and it had been the first home to Romafeller's "senate" meetings. Though the Foundation had been created longer back than that, this fortress had been the instrument to bring the prestige of the members into focus.

Since then, this resplendent building had seen the Foundation leave its halls for another, ever larger, building. …And then it had witnessed the utter demise of its founders.

This was the Dermail legacy.

And it could fall into the lake that ran around three sides of it for all she cared.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes and straightened her shoulders as she moved towards the rose garden entrance. She was expected, and the ever-present staff of workers would be fawning over her soon enough. How these cold bricks could generate a personality change in her, she would never know.

* * *

"You owe me for this," Dorothy stated as she felt two arms encircle her waist.

"Of course, Milady," came the quiet reply as a tiny kiss was placed at the base of her neck.

Dorothy didn't bother to take notice. In her hands she held the layout design for the main ballroom and she had four workers currently arranging the tables. The arms slipped away as quietly as they came and she sauntered forward. Scrutinizing the diagram, and then the room's layout, she frowned, "I don't think I like this."

"By all means, darling, change it."

She rolled her eyes and finally turned around to face the man in question. Davonte Fellentain stood casually by, his golden, honey colored eyes scanning the room. One hand still held a pair of sunglasses as it lounged against his hip.

He was dressed, as always, in black. A simple pair of slacks and a long, straight jacket, left open to expose the white, collarless shirt. A flare for the theatrical was always present in his style, and could be especially noted in his unruly black hair. The shorter bangs hung into his eyes in the front, but the hair just at the nape of his neck he'd grown long, always pulled back in a thin ponytail that trailed down to mid-back.

"Davonte, this is your showing," she stated, trying to keep her face straight. "Do as you please. I'm just saying that I don't like it."

Those golden eyes flickered back to her, and he broke his most endearing smile. "Beloved, I could never tolerate something that you didn't like," he cooed, mock-bowing to her.

Dorothy finally broke out a laugh at the sight. "Well in that case, I'll thank you to remove yourself."

Davonte's expression broke as well, as he moved forward to her and held out a hand. She couldn't help but think that it was good, at least, to see him again. Extending her hand he took it and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "Now what fun would that be?"

* * *

"So, who is he?"

Dorothy fiddled with the flower arrangements for lack of anything else to do. The evening was wearing on and the rest of the help had left, or turned in. "Who's who?" she asked absently.

Davonte lounged in one of chairs at the edge of the ballroom floor. "This scoundrel that has stolen you away so long."

She laughed to herself as she moved two more vases. Perhaps going with different colors wasn't such a good idea now that she thought about it. "I think you're familiar with him, his name is Mars. Very fiery soul, always getting into trouble."

"I don't mean your projects, darling."

She sighed and turned to look back across the room at him. "Well, I will disappoint you to say that my projects are all I have time for these days."

"Milady always has time for the fellows."

She shook her head. "Shut up, Von."

That got a heartfelt laugh out of him and she smiled down at the flowers she kept moving.

"So, you're telling me that you just simply have not found anyone to replace me?" came the coy reply from behind her. He apparently rose to his feet and was moving across the room.

"Replace what? If my memory serves, I am your one great defeat." She knew she could get a rise out of the family friend yet this evening.

"That could always be corrected." She sidestepped around the table before he had a chance to snag a hold of her again. She went to move a flower vase again, this time to the opposite corner of the expansive room.

"Not likely," she muttered. There was a loud sigh and Dorothy had to contain her laughter. Perhaps this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Beloved, what have I ever done to alienate you?"

"Nothing," she turned back. "I just don't like you that way."

He gave her a resigned expression and then hung his head. "A simple man caught in your beauty has nothing more than his hope."

She rolled her eyes, "Well, I would hate to throw away someone's hopes and dreams."

"I would wait for the sands of time to stop for you."

She snorted and continued with her flowers. "Well, could you do it a little more quietly?"

"As my Mistress beckons."

She sighed, and slumped her shoulders. "Why can I never get away from that title?" she grumbled.

"'The Mistress of Romafeller' doesn't care for her crown anymore?"

"I didn't particularly care for it before," she stated.

"Well, you shouldn't be expecting much now. You have, however, created quite the stir around the… circle."

That was a nice way to say the lingering remnants of the Foundation. "Vultures always circle together," she mumbled.

"Quite," came the snippy reply. "But some of us still have to be here, while others have… removed themselves."

Dorothy finally set down the vase again. Straightening, she turned to look back at him. "There is nothing here for me anymore. Why does everyone keep insisting that I stay?"

A slender eyebrow rose. "Nothing? Not even your friends? Have you once visited your old classmates? You know, the ones you were just certain you would come back to after your little jaunt to Princess Peace's school?"

She turned away to inspect the tables again. "Perhaps I learned something."

"Perhaps. But I suspect that it would take more than a school to make you want to throw yourself away." There was a softer touch to his baritone voice that she hated to admit made her pause. "You didn't just leave us, Dorothy. You left yourself. You… ran away, although I never believed I would hear myself say that."

She whipped around, her eyes hardening on him. "Is that what they say? Is that what the old winkled crusts of humanity say about me? Do they think I've stolen my grandfather's memories and locked them away in his bank vault and deserted them?"

Davonte held up a hand and paced slowly towards her. "No. They say nasty things," he teased. Dropping his hand again he laced them behind his back. "I say that you ran away."

She closed her eyes on the insult. "And you wonder why I don't bother with my 'friends.'"

He came up in front of her, and a hand under her chin forced her to look up at his height as he bent slightly to be closer to her face. "I would never blame you."

Davonte knew her grandfather rather well. He had met up with their family when she was twelve and he was nineteen, and the two had taken such a wonderfully bickering interest in each other that the Duke had no choice but to allow the two to see each other—casually only of course. He would have felt her loss as well, and she knew it.

"Darling, what is it about this house that still haunts you?" His eyes bored into hers and she knew that he wouldn't let this go until he was satisfied with her answer.

"I was wrong," she stated quietly, her eyes never softening.

Again the eyebrow rose. "Wrong? You? Are you ill?" he asked incredulously. Dropping the hand from her chin he spun around with a snort. "Dorothy Catalonia, wrong? Alert the media!" He spun back to her, and stepped in, encircling her shoulders. "What's happened to you?" he asked softly.

Dorothy lowered her head until she was eye-level with his collar button. "What do I have left to be so proud of?" She felt him start. Looking back up she met his eyes, "The Foundation has taken everything from me. Their bloody history has stolen my family, my life and my name. Tell me what I have left to be so damned proud of!"

The shocked surprise in his eyes was clear enough.

She relented from yelling at him, feeling again that these walls were forcing her into her old role. "This place reminds me of everything that I don't want to be," she answered honestly.

Softly one of his arms slipped away from her as he moved to tip her chin up to look at him again. She finally found the honest concern in him that she had grown used to over the years. His eyes scrutinized her a moment. "What do you want to be?" he asked softly.

She let herself relax somewhat. "I want to not be branded a 'Romafeller' wherever I go. I've screwed up enough things in my own life without having to pay for three hundred years of their problems."

There was a slow smile that crept onto his face. "But beloved, you're forgetting something." She snorted, but he held her chin from turning away. "The Foundation will never let you leave. Whether you know it or not, for as long as you breathe it will be part of you. You weren't raised as a Romafeller… you were raised by Romafeller."

She tried to hold back the cringe, but she still had to close her eyes on the truth.

"Dorothy, you are forever buried in my heart as that obnoxious, smart-mouthed, twelve year old who told me I screwed up my light sources."

She couldn't do anything but smile at the memory, and it was enough to make her look back up at him. "I should have tossed out your un-talented butt then."

His smile was genuine as he looked down at her. "But you didn't. You were curious. You sat for hours, pestering me to see how often you could get me to mess up on that painting."

"Yes I did," she admitted with an evil glint to her eyes.

"That portrait has more paint on the canvas than anything three times that size," he muttered.

She narrowed her eyes again. "That's because you didn't want to finish it."

He sighed, moving his arm back around her. "True. Twelve years old and you were a better art critic than I had ever seen. For a girl who had never picked up a brush before, you already had a master's eye." His expression softened again. "I fell in love with your insights more than I loved painting."

She looked down from the compliment, although it was nothing that he hadn't told her before. It was the main reason that the two had taken such a fancy for each other. "I loved your style, I just didn't want to say it," she teased.

"Always hard to get," he muttered. He paused with a sigh. "If it weren't for you, I would still be eating my own canvas."

She giggled merrily at the image. "So are you going to show me these new things or not?"

She raised an eyebrow when he shook his head. "You're going to have to wait until I bring them tomorrow." She rolled her eyes and slipped herself out of his arms. "But I do have a surprise for you."

She turned back and waited, but he simply tucked his hands behind his back. "So? What is it?"

He turned on his heel and slowly paced off towards the raised ballroom doors. She looked after him a moment before figuring that he was getting too good at her own tactics.

He led her all the way through the ground floor and to the front doors. She was about to tell him that she'd wait for the surprise until he moved it closer to her, but he stopped in the foyer, and turned to her. Extending a hand, he waited for her to take it before he pulled her closer.

In front of them, leaned against the wall was a covered canvas approximately five feet tall and seven feet long. If this was a present, she was going to have a hard time finding a place to put it.

"I do have to show you the pet project that I've been working on all this time," he smiled. She gave him an impatient look and his shoulders slumped. "Spoiled, self-centered, little brat."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Love!" He turned and began un-tucking the cloth draped over the thing, careful not to show her anything other than the elaborate frame that was already surrounding it. Finally stepping aside, he pulled the cloth away with a sweep, yelling, "Ole!"

She gave him a groan for his trouble before focusing on the underlying painting. And stopped. "…You are not allowed to put that in the show."

He pouted at her. "You really know how to hurt an artist, don't you?"

Still, her eyes swam over the painted canvas, capturing what she would have said was a fantastic scene… if she hadn't been in it. "I knew I should have never done that," she whispered.

"I think it's a very good likeness," he commented, coming to stand next to her. "Should be, I've spent a bloody year on it."

She finally turned to look up at him from the corner of her eye. "I thought you promised that no one would be able to tell."

He blinked at her and then at the painting. "Who's going to be able to tell it's you from that?"

"Me!" she snipped. Davonte burst out laughing at her, and all she could do was stare at the offending painting. Alright, sure, he was probably right that most people looking at it wouldn't notice that it was modeled after her… but anyone who knew the two of them certainly would. "You're still not allowed to show it."

His laughter turned to more tightly restrained chuckles before he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her around to face him. "Always as you wish, beloved." She glared up at him, but he was completely undaunted. "Besides, it's a gift, you may do with it as you like."

"Really?"

Her eyes sparkled with pure evil and even her dear Davonte cringed. "Except that."

"Except what?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, "Whatever you were thinking."

She laughed at him and finally conceded. "It's beautiful, dear. It really is… even if you're a snake."

Again he trapped her chin in his hand and leaned down to meet her eyes. "I've always told you you are too beautiful not to be made out of paint." She rolled her eyes and he smiled down at her. "You're welcome."

She sighed, and had the feeling she was going to be spending most of the rest of the week finding a place to hang the thing. Oh well. In sixty years when she was old and wrinkly she'd probably love it.

"Well, I should allow you your rest." Stepping away he quickly replaced the cloth over the frame.

"When do I expect the setup crew tomorrow?" she asked, feeling a bit out of place at being left in her own house alone.

"We should be here around noon. They will be loading from my studio in the morning." Turning back to her, he smiled again. "I do appreciate you allowing me this place. I wouldn't feel right displaying anywhere else."

She waved it off, "You have more of an attachment to this place than I do now."

"I wish that weren't the case," he whispered, stepping in close. She found those golden eyes and all she could think of was that she didn't want to be here at all anymore. "I wish you could find some sort of peace here," he finished

"I don't think that will be happening any time soon," she said instead.

He sighed and nodded, resigned it seemed. "At least I get you once in a while."

She smiled at him, "Perhaps you should keep the painting."

"Oh, no," he teased. "I have the original photos."

She visually wilted in front of him. "What death-defying thing did you do for me again that forced me to pose in that stupid outfit?"

He chuckled, "I believe I saved you from some boring function by escorting you."

Oh, yes, she remembered. "I should have just let Sir Winsidor drool over me for an evening; at least it would be done and over."

"It's not the drool you have to watch for; it's his teeth falling out when he gapes."

She laughed at the image of the elderly pervert with his teeth falling out, and then decided that that was not an image she wanted to keep in mind. "Oh, you're right."

He shook his head and moved in closer to her. "Goodnight, Milady."

Dorothy started when he moved in to peck a kiss on her lips, turning slightly just before he would have made contact. When he stopped short just a breath away she immediately regretted that.

Pulling back he searched her eyes, and she tried not to look sheepish as she stared up at him. "Well now, that's new," he commented, still a bit too close for comfort.

She couldn't stop mentally kicking herself long enough to come up with an answer.

Pulling back a bit more, he still searched her eyes, expecting what, she wasn't sure. "Have I become so far gone to you that you won't even indulge me a goodnight kiss?"

"Of course not," she answered automatically. "You just startled me."

The eyebrow raised again, a look of fascinated curiosity coming to his eyes. "Startled? No, I don't think so. You grew up in this circle. A woman doesn't neglect a friendly peck unless she is either… disappointed in him, or…" he smiled, "unwilling to wash off someone else's."

The artsy-fartsy crowd they ran in was used to such tiny displays of affection between friends… and even not so friends. She was used to it. She expected it. She had never before backed away from one without a good reason. And never from Davonte. "You're reading too much into this," she said instead.

A smirk settled onto his face, and his eyes gazed suspiciously at her. "Perhaps I should go back to an earlier question then. Who is he?"

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

He _tisked_ at her before she felt a tug on her hair. She whirled back to find him with a handful of her strands. "Now, now, Mistress. Please, indulge me."

"Davonte Michael Fellentain, release me."

The absolute mirth in his eyes was getting on her last good nerve this evening. "Anything you wish," he stated, letting her hair drop. "But you haven't answered my question."

"I have no answer for you," she sniffed.

He moved in, catching her before she could turn away and again wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Leaning down he met her eyes and she had no choice but to stay put. "Please?" Still she only glared at him. His golden eyes smiled paternally down at her, "Has someone taken your affections so much that you'll be faithful to him, or just his kiss?"

The words stung a little, although she didn't know why. "I am not being 'faithful' to anything or anyone," she sighed, feeling very tired already.

A hand tipped her chin back up when she tried to drop it. "Really?" His thumb brushed over her bottom lip and she again involuntarily cringed. "I don't think I believe you," he whispered back.

Why?

Her eyes may have given away a bit of shocked surprise, because a smile came easily to his lips. Mentally cursing herself, she forced herself away from him. Davonte was an artist, a poet, a man that prided himself on knowing the barest traces of emotion in others. He would have seen… what? Why was she being so flaky anyway?

"Dorothy?"

She actually much preferred his assortment of pet names for her rather than hear that earnest tone in his voice. Looking back up at him she waited for the verdict.

The question in his eyes plagued her a moment. "Darling? Is something wrong? Something really wrong?" he clarified. "Has someone hurt you?"

For all of his sordid comments to her, he had never been anything but brotherly towards her, never actually taking any sort of "romantic" interest in her. He was simply the strange friend that you wouldn't normally bring home to the family… except that the family had brought him home to her. His concern was genuine no matter how odd his tactics were of getting it out of her.

She favored him with a genuine smile for the show of concern, but shook her head. "No, dear, no one has hurt me."

He seemed relieved at that. "What then?"

She turned softly away; remembering the last kiss that she'd felt. "Quite the opposite I suppose," she said instead. "I think I've been spoiled," she teased with a sideways glance back to him.

The eyebrow quirked up. "Ah," he licked his lips. "Is that a challenge… or a dismissal?"

She chuckled at him, and couldn't help but think that she kept very odd company. Walking back she rested a hand on his shoulder and hopped up on her toes to peck a feathery kiss on his cheek instead. "Neither. Just a piece of information for you to keep to yourself."

* * *

The chandeliers were dimmed down to a golden glow, and the candles set around the ballroom's outer tables added to the shimmering effect. The paintings were displayed in full lighting out in the main hallway and entryway. Only a few select canvases decorated the grand room's area, set between the balcony's doorways.

Davonte Fellentain's first official showing had an extensive turn out. He had of course worked his way through the former-Romafeller circle, beginning with portrait work. Notably, his first paid commission of Duke Dermail, which typically hung proudly in the West wing's receiving room, and which had been moved out to a place of honor in the center of the ballroom's collection for tonight.

He had since moved up in prestige around the group, gaining jobs from any and all of the noteworthy households. Full wall canvases had come next, and even a few murals, and of course, the ever present landscape designs. His perfection in the details and the realistic style of his work was something few could duplicate despite his young age.

Many of the former-Romafeller members attended, typically escorted by their much more art-minded wives or daughters. And of course, others came simply because this was the first time that the chateau had been opened since the demise of its former lord.

Dorothy was not exactly set on enjoying the evening, but she was inclined to be on the arm of her friend, and the presenter of the night. More than anything, she would not neglect his desire to have his showing here, in the place of his first commission, and in a place where he had decorated many other walls as well. After all, Dorothy had taken quite a liking to his work as well as him personally… and her grandfather tended to indulge her in the things he could never understand himself.

The theme for the evening was modeled after his customary interests in his artwork. He loved the old myths, legends and figures of the renaissance era, ancient Greece and Rome, and so on. So, accordingly, the costumes for the event relived the medieval and Arthurian times.

The hosting couple was no exception. Davonte himself was shrouded in an Arthurian minstrel's outfit. He was dripped head to toe in a black under shirt and leggings. His shoes laced up to his knees, and his blue tunic hung long over his thighs, open at the chest to expose the shirt, and an attractive amount of his neck and chest. A short cape was flipped back over one shoulder.

Davonte was anything but shy about his love affair with anything of beauty, which usually included women. He was notorious for having a silken touch and a silver tongue. Branded as a playboy by the men, he was spoken of a bit more fondly by the women of the group.

And looking around, the room was mostly women.

Dorothy entered down the entrance stairway on his arm, dripped in a pale ivory gold that tried vainly to match her hair. Her shoulders where bare as both the inner and over layers of her dress wrapped in a low scoop neckline. The skirts were full, but without a hoop to make it stand out, instead they draped in rivers of cloth down her body and tried to cover the heels she wore underneath.

The double layer sleeves took a little getting used to as they fell several inches below her wrists and tended to get in the way at every turn. But this was what she got for allowing him the run of choosing their costumes. She knew better, she had played the dress up game more times than she could count.

It was a beautiful display, and everything was running smoothly for her first official hosting function. But Dorothy's heart was very simply not in it. She used to love these functions, the designs, the displays, the worthless flattery that fogged through the room. Now, it was just plain worthless.

* * *

"Lady Dorothy, there is still one guest waiting to speak with you in the receiving room."

She tiredly eyed her butler but shrugged it off. "Very well, thank you."

What blasted idiot was waiting around this time of night? Even Davonte had given up and gone home for the night. She was so tired of smiling that her face hurt, and her feet were killing her. That stupid dress had gained fifteen pounds somewhere in the evening and her makeshift crown had already been removed before it gave her a larger headache.

This was not going to be a pleasant conversation if whoever it was wasn't prepared.

Slipping past the front entrance, she paced down the West hall and into the sitting room. The figure standing poised at the window was a man who she never would have expected. She stalled in the doorway, watching the tall, broad shouldered teenager. His tanned complexion and sandy blond hair hadn't changed any since she had last walked away from him most of… a year ago.

That meeting between them hadn't gone well either.

His feet were set shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped behind his back in typical _at ease_ form. Andrew Varnhem, also known as the Admiral. Son of Sir Jacob Varnhem and Lady Olivia Mender-Varnhem. The heir to his Romafeller family line, complete with the mining industry under their watch. …Grandson of the late Admiral Varnhem.

"You're not an easy woman to get a hold of these days," he said without turning. "I apologize for crashing your party."

There was no apology in his voice, and Dorothy felt herself pull up automatically to straight height. "Andrew, I wasn't expecting you." He finally turned enough to look over his shoulder at her. Her former schoolmate had lost none of his presence. She forced herself to walk into the room. "Always nice to see you again."

There was a sad smile that touched his lips as he looked over her attire for the evening. "Is it?" he asked softly. "I can't say the same."

She stopped a few paces closer, shocked by the blunt slap in the face.

Looking away, he quietly searched for his words. "I feel like it's been ages since I've been here." He turned fully and then looked back to the side wall at the blank area where her grandfather's portrait was supposed to hang over the huge fireplace mantle. "It actually has been, hasn't it?"

She blinked, unsure of what to try and answer first.

He turned back to her, "I wasn't sure you'd ever come home."

She lowered her eyes, her hands bunching unconsciously around her skirts. "I no longer consider this home, Andrew."

"…I've noticed."

She swallowed and looked back to him. His dark brown eyes sadly looked back at her, a deep-seated sorrow touching them stronger than she would have ever believed she would see out of this man.

"I know what you lost in the war, Dorothy. I would have been able to understand. You should have come back to me." He shook his head, turning away from her. "I waited for you. Even when you did come back, it was to clean out your things. You never even gave me the chance…."

Dorothy felt a shiver go down her back. No, she hadn't come back to him, or to any of her friends. She couldn't face them, afraid that they'd no longer accept her. "You wouldn't know me anymore, Andrew," she stated quietly. He never knew her before either, but he didn't realize that, and neither had she for the longest time.

He blinked, turning back to focus on her. "You're right." The bitter edge to his voice was unmistakable. "You promised to return to me, to us. You said it wouldn't be long. All you needed was to stay at that school for a little while, do what you had to. Instead… you never came back at all."

"Everything happened too quickly—"

"You didn't want to," he matter-of-factly cut her off. "I worried about you during the entire war. Scared that you were getting yourself in over your head somewhere, and there was nothing I could do about it." He paused, looking at her. "But you never came back."

She faltered and he continued, walking a few paces closer. "We waited. Then the word came that you'd finished your high school replacement courses and were taking over the investments on your grandfather's accounts." She cringed despite herself. "Even that, I could have forgiven. I could understand needing to get yourself back together."

Again he took a few steps forward. "But I couldn't ignore the fact that the one, solitary time that I finally got to see you again… you brushed me aside. You pushed me away like I was nothing." Anger came up through the bitter sadness in his voice. "You moved, left us all behind without a word or thought, and you took your interests where? Space. The Colonies, Mars, the farthest places you could possibly get from here. Why?"

She swallowed, and tried to clear her thoughts. "Because I needed a chance to make up for what I've done."

"What you've done?" he asked incredulously. "What you've done is torn me to pieces worrying over you."

She stopped, seeing sincerity in his face as he again moved closer.

"What you've done is alienated yourself and left behind your entire life. For what? Some Colony brat you met at this all important 'pacifism' school?" he accused.

That stung. Not only because he knew about her dealings with Quatre, but because he knew enough to know that he was at Miss Relena's school for a time as well. If he dug any farther….

"Didn't you have enough stuck up social bigots around here to deal with? Now you have to take on all of space to prove your worth?"

"That's not true," she tried.

He shook his head, coming the rest of the way up to her. "I don't care anymore Dorothy," he whispered, obviously serious. "I've spent two years worrying about you, caring about you, and pleading for you to come back. But you never understood, did you?" he looked down at her, his eyes saddening again. "I loved you."

She stared at him, shocked beside herself.

He swallowed, lowering his eyes from her again. "I didn't care what family belonged to what, or how much they forced us together. I simply couldn't get away from you. I couldn't forget you. You worked your way through me, and I didn't realize it until it was too late, and I didn't know that I'd already lost you."

"Andrew…" she breathed. This wasn't the headstrong, disciplined man that she had known before. This… scared her.

He stepped in and tentatively touched her face. "You'll never come back to me, will you?" he asked softly.

What could she say to him? She didn't want to come back here. And if she did, it wouldn't be the same. Neither of them were who they remembered. "No… I can't. Andrew, I'm not the same anymore. I need to start over."

His touch fell away, and his eyes blinked closed. "I figured that much," he whispered. Straightening again, he looked at her. "Then this is my goodbye, since I never got the chance before."

"Andrew," she stepped forward, reaching out to hold on to him a moment, to make him understand that it wasn't him that she was trying to leave behind. That she just didn't want to run anymore.

But he stepped back as well, keeping her at a distance. "I've stopped worrying about you Dorothy. You've always taken care of yourself, and you'll continue to. I'm not waiting any longer."

The passive harshness in him stilled her, worry for him starting again instead.

His eyes softened once more and he shook his head. "It's not easy to admit that you broke my heart."

She gasped at him, feeling her chest cave in out of empathy.

"You never gave me the chance to help you. You tossed me aside. Even our friends, you were simply… through with us."

"No!" Moving forward, she clutched onto his arms, wanting to force him to listen to her. "You don't understand—"

"And I never will," he reminded her. He specifically removed her hands from him, his eyes clouding with bitter sadness again. "I will never be able to understand. I was stupid not to have admitted this to you before. I was stupid for ever letting you leave. It's my fault for loving you."

How did that make sense?

"Goodbye Dorothy. I do hope that you find what you need." And with that, he brushed past her and left.

Looking after him, she could do nothing but remember to breathe. Slowly she slumped down, until she found herself collapsing to sit on the floor, her entire life up until two years ago flashing before her eyes. She had run away. And she had hurt everyone that she had cared about before while doing it.

…Had she never realized how much those here had cared about her? Maybe she still didn't.

Why did she ever come back?

Her fists shook as she clasped them in her lap, fighting back the tears that were threatening her. Snapping her head up she found the empty spot on the wall where the portrait was supposed to be.

* * *

"Nothing changes more constantly than the past; for the past that influences our lives does not consist of what happened, but of what men believe happened." - Gerald W. Johnston

AN: I know this was OC overload, but I hope you'll forgive that for one chapter. We know so little about Dorothy's past that I figured it was going to come back to haunt her eventually.

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	7. Chapter 7

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 7

"Good morning, Sir," the butler greeted Davonte at the door.

"Morning," he replied, not sure he could put the "good" on the front of that. "Has the Lady of the house started without me?"

The elder man shook his head. "No, Sir. Lady Dorothy has not been down yet this morning."

He raised an eyebrow and then glanced at his watch.

"Should you need assistance?"

"No, thank you," he stated off hand. "My crew should be along shortly."

The butler nodded and led him back to the ballroom entrance. "Excuse me, Sir."

"Thank you. Well, I suppose I'll have to start the clean up without her," he said, walking a few paces into the room. Pausing, he waited a moment until the click of the man's dress shoes echoed far enough down the hallway. "…Or not."

Backpedaling out into the hall again, he glanced both ways to be sure the coast was clear and then quickly turned and moved off towards the West wing. If he had to be up at the un-godly hour of ten o'clock after a night like that, she certainly would be too.

Checking for any of the house's workforce, he slipped up the wing's stairs to the third floor. He paused a moment when he found the hallway lined with doors of guestrooms, searching his memory for where to go from here. He walked down the hall to a side corridor blocked by a set of double doors. That should be right.

Opening one quietly, he peeked in, finding the large sitting area of the West wing's "apartment" that was set into one of the turret-style attachments at the back of the estate. The enclosed set of rooms gave a much more livable area for the immediate family that had resided in the gigantic castle of a house.

There was no one in sight and he slipped in, pushing the door closed behind him. With no one but Dorothy still… well, alive enough to use the space, this shouldn't be hard.

He walked over to one of the side doorways surrounding the rounded room's walls, and knocked on it. He waited, but there was no reply. He was sure that this was the right room… although it had been a number of years since he'd had cause to slip up here.

Not that he ever had cause then exactly either…. Oh well.

Finally growing impatient, he opened the door a crack and peeked in, hoping he wasn't going to catch her in anything more revealing than her pajamas… although teasing her mercilessly would be fun.

What he found was the room put together just as it should have been. At first he assumed he had the wrong room and this was still laid out for guests. But on closer inspection he found her luggage stashed in the corner, and a pile of clothes tossed beside the bed. The hangers and wrappings that her costume had come in were piled into a sitting chair next to the windows.

Well, he had the right room. But the bed was still neatly made, and it was obvious that no one had slept in it last night.

Frowning, he again made sure that her luggage was still there, and the vanity on the opposite wall was still littered with an assortment of girly products. Her bathroom door was open, and there was no one inside, her closets were closed….

"Where are you?" he asked out loud.

No one answered him, and he decided against invading her privacy any more. Closing her door, he moved to the next room, the actual master bedroom, so to speak. Perhaps she had been nostalgic for her grandfather after the torrent of comments made about him last night.

Worry crept in as he turned the handle and quietly looked around the room as well. There were no signs that anyone had entered the place in the two years since the Duke had passed away.

For lack of anything else to do, he checked the other three rooms around the apartment and still found nothing. Had she not gone to sleep last night? If he had to search every room in the chateau this was going to take forever.

Slipping back out of the apartment, he began his search through the hallways at least, wondering where she could possibly be. Getting to the ground floor again, he checked the kitchen, the dinning rooms, the porch areas facing the lake behind the building; he even checked the assortment of sitting rooms, and library studies.

He even specifically checked the practice room and ensured that all of the fencing foils were lining the wall, as they should be.

"Where the devil…?" he muttered to himself.

Finally, all but at a loss, he crossed into the music room, set across from the wing's receiving room. And there he finally found her, although he almost wished he hadn't.

Apparently none of the house servers had been by here to notice that their Mistress was seated in a plush chair, turned so she could stare out the South windows onto the balcony and the decorative lake beyond. Her shoes were kicked off beside the chair, and her feet were tucked under her, hidden under the mass of folds from her costume she still wore from the night before.

The terrible, Miss Havisham type of display stilled him in the doorway, afraid to break whatever spell had been placed over her.

She obviously didn't notice him, and he wasn't sure if she was asleep in the chair. The poor thing looked for the world like one of his paintings, a capture of some distressed maiden trapped blindly in her thoughts.

Shaking it off, he moved forward, bent on waking her at least enough to find out what was so terribly wrong that she'd spent the night here of all places. "Dorothy?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her.

"Davonte? Good morning. I didn't realize you were here already," came the obviously awake and alert reply.

He stopped halfway to her in the large, mostly empty room, as she rose and turned to greet him. She held herself straight, and she looked no worse for wear, as she smoothed down the lines of her crumpled gown.

"I've decided where to hang your present."

* * *

The president's desk was scattered with an assortment of piles of various forms, reports and data disks. But still the young man seated in the chair was faced away from the desk and towards the wall of glass behind it.

Quatre was, quite honestly, bored. He hated to use that expression, especially when there were things that he could be doing. But at the moment, none of it was pressing, and none of it held any form of interest to him whatsoever. A few nagging problems here and there, an assortment of people to contact again, blaa blaa blaa.

It was getting very old in a hurry. So, he was taking a break, staring out the window at the gentle incline of the colony, and letting the piles fend for themselves for a few minutes.

…And then there was the ever-present phone, which of course chose this moment to ring.

He bit back a sigh and spun his chair back to face his desk. "Quatre Winner," he answered.

"Good afternoon, Master Winner. Your secretaries are getting better at recognizing my voice. I think I'm going to have to become a bit more subtle."

Quatre broke a happy smile. "Lady Catalonia, subtlety is not your style," he teased, more than happy to hear from her again. It had been literally months since he'd seen her, and phone conversations were a rarity between them, mainly due to their time differences…. "_Good afternoon…."_ Remembering the last time he got an afternoon call from her, he sobered. "You're not across the street again, are you?"

There was laugh from the other end of the line. "No, of course not."

He relaxed with a sigh.

"I'm downstairs in your lobby."

"What?" he started.

The giggle continued. "Well, you know how bad I am at calling beforehand."

He shook his head with a smile. Same ol' Dorothy. "Well, since you're here, you may as well come up."

"Well, I don't want to impose. I was wondering if you were free for dinner this evening," she returned.

His smile slipped off as quickly as it came. "No, I'm sorry. I have a dinner meeting tonight with a supplier," he admitted, feeling guilty for having to say it.

"Oh, well, I suppose that should teach me," she mused, at least not sounding heartbroken about it.

"But you're here already," he rushed, standing up to lean over the phone. "Please come up at least. Are you only on colony for today?"

She hummed at him a moment. "Well, my addiction to caramel lattes hasn't been satiated yet…" she thoughtfully replied.

Quatre had to keep himself from laughing in her ear. "I'll promise you as many as you want."

"Well, that is appealing, but I really don't want to take you away from your work. And, honestly, I don't need to trouble you."

He rolled his eyes. "Dorothy, I would hate to have to call my security in order to get you into the elevator. You do tend to stand out in a crowd, you know." She laughed again, and he couldn't help but smile. "Besides, work today hasn't exactly held my interest," he confided.

"Your negotiating is getting better, Master Winner."

"I'm learning," he teased. "Now, please, walk over, get in the elevator, punch in floor 178 and get up here."

"As you wish," she mock-sighed.

He shook his head again. "I'll meet you at the elevators."

"Alright, alright, I'm going. But don't blame me when you don't get anything done today."

He looked down at the piles of things on his desk. "Well… what else is new?"

The two hung up without preamble and he grabbed a few of the stacks and bunched them a little more neatly on one corner. He quickly threw away the cups at the top of his desk, and then realized he was being paranoid.

Leaving his suit jacket on the chair, he left his office and walked through the maze of his receptionists. Stepping out into the hallway to the rest of the floor, he casually passed through the rows of offices and rooms, and into the central lobby, which was identical to every other floor in the building.

Here he waited, almost in solitude as the rest of the building crawled along with the workday. The elevator in the center of the row buzzed quietly just before the doors opened to reveal the lone passenger.

Dorothy stepped off with a smile to him, attired in a simple black skirt and a long-sleeved, white wrap-around shirt. He couldn't help but think that they couldn't have matched better if they'd tried, considering his black slacks and white dress shirt.

"Well, aren't we cute," she quipped. Reaching him, she easily slipped into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He chuckled at her, returning the hug, and letting himself enjoy the feel of her for a moment. "It's been too long," he said quietly, meaning it whole-heartedly.

"Yes, it has." She didn't release him right away, and there was something in her tone that nagged at him a bit. But as she finally pulled back, he brushed it off. "Now then, how about showing me what a multi-billion dollar presidential office looks like?"

The mischief in her eyes would have been frightening if he wasn't so used to it by now. "I think you need to read your stock reports better."

"Oh, what's a few hundred million between friends?" she said as she comically waved it off.

He turned on his heel before waving a hand in front of him. "Ladies first."

Walking her back down the main hallway, she admired the place… and Quatre noted a collection of employees admiring her back. Not exactly knowing how to take that, he simply kept quiet as he slowly circled her around the floor, giving the grand tour. By the time they circled all the way around, there seemed to be a substantial amount of workers discussing things out in the hallway.

Granted, Dorothy wasn't helping herself any. Her skirt fell only a few inches longer than her hair, which meant almost to her knees, and was by no means immodest, but it wasn't… typical office attire for many of the women around here. Her shirt exposed nothing but her neck and hands, but it tucked around enough curves to be… appealing.

And Quatre mentally slapped himself. Hard.

Yeah, he was a fine one to be annoyed with his workers right now. He off-handedly answered one of her comments, all the while praying she wouldn't notice the small blush he knew was staining his cheeks.

Instead, he led her into his office and receptionist suite, closing the door on a hallway comically clustered with business suits. He really needed to start re-thinking where he could take her in public.

Introducing her to his three receptionists, she exchanged pleasantries with them about having faces to put with the names. Always the people person, she gracefully excused herself and he ushered her back to his office, and closed the door behind them.

"Well, everyone seems friendly around here," she commented as she scanned the room. Stepping up to the wall of glass behind the desk, she folded her arms in front of her. "Now, this is a view." Turning back, she smiled over her shoulder, "I'll take it."

He chuckled at her and stepped up to lean against his desk behind her. "I have a nice office, with the same view, ready and waiting any time you want it."

She hummed to her herself, taking in the sights. "Catch me on the right day, and you may have to eat those words."

It was the first time she'd ever made even a remotely positive response to that question, but he brushed it off. "Never. You think I'm kidding, but I'd hand this stuff over to you in a heartbeat."

She spun around with a chuckle. "Still not getting cozy with the paperwork side of things?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I'm beginning to have my doubts that I ever will."

"Quatre, dear, you're still missing the point," she lectured, pacing her way to circle the room. "You are the president of the company. You hold ultimate control over the workforce, and therefore, the job descriptions." She pinned him with a look over one shoulder. "That includes your own."

He blinked at her. "I can't just pile this on someone else and leave for the resorts."

She continued her scrutiny of his bookshelves and wall art. "No. But you can create a position that redistributes you to a more enjoyable placement."

"Say that again?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Make someone else do the paperwork so you can do something you like," she rephrased.

He mentally sighed, "Why can't you just say it like that the first time?"

She shrugged, "I'm studying for my bar exams."

He laughed at her before shaking his head. "I'm sorry I asked." Turning back, he watched her meander around the room. "So, do I owe the pleasure of this visit to something in particular?"

She paused a second but then seemed to think better of it. "Not really. It's just been a while. And I was… lonely," she winked at him and he cringed despite himself.

"I'm not sure I believe that."

She shook it off with a laugh. "Besides, a little bird told me you were going to be on colony for the rest of the week."

When did he ever get off colony anymore? "Did this 'little bird' happen to be about six foot seven, two hundred fifty pounds?"

She mockingly considered it a moment as she finished her search of the room and sauntered back to him. "No, I'd say more like five foot ten, with a fixation for sunglasses."

"Good help is hard to find," he muttered.

"Good friends are harder."

* * *

Quatre sat, pleasantly discussing the broader points of a business deal with Mr. Arthur Nickels, and his daughter, and resource supervisor, Jesimae. And something told him that a large part of this deal was centered around Miss Jesimae, rather than her father.

In all truth, he wasn't really paying attention anyway. The group had decided against talking about any of the details and therefore it was mostly chitchat. He found himself antsy and he was growing more and more uncomfortable staying with the two any longer.

He had finally declined dessert or coffee, stating that he had another business associate to meet with this evening. It was true…mostly. Politely excusing himself, he treated the group himself, asking the Maitre d' to look after them personally. He however, was out the door and his mind was already elsewhere.

Dorothy had been acting oddly, and the more he thought back on it, the more he had started to worry himself. He had grudgingly kept his appointment with the Nickels tonight, mainly at her request. She was always concerned over his business relations, and she wouldn't hear of him postponing for her.

He, in turn, had made her promise to at least stay the night and allow him a little time to catch up with her. It wasn't until then that she had cracked just a little. Sensing something was wrong he'd attempted to ask her about it, but she'd waved it off, saying that she would tell him about it later.

He'd taken it that there was something weighing on her mind, and that her visit wasn't as random as usual. He was beginning to wonder just how naïve that had been.

Dorothy was not the type to hunt down someone to spill her troubles out to, least of all when it involved several hours of travel time. If she had honestly come for a sympathetic ear… well, he wasn't sure what that would mean. It wasn't something he would have ever expected from her.

The worry lingered in him, growing little by little all evening, especially since they had been apart. Something nagged at him, snippets of her words or actions kept coming back to make him realize that she wasn't her usual self.

He drove home, silently wondering if she'd really let him in far enough to tell him what was troubling her.

His butler met him at the door and informed him that Dorothy was situated and was waiting for him in the sitting room. He found her lounging on the couch, her feet bare as her legs stretched out over the cushions, and a book in her lap.

She propped up her chin with her hand and looked like she could fall asleep any moment. That was no surprise considering that it should be the early hours of the morning for her back home. Quietly closing the door, he walked up to her, only getting an acknowledgement once he was a few paces away.

Dorothy closed her book and looked up with a smile. "How were your dinner guests?" she asked.

"Well received," he answered. She really did seem tired. "You shouldn't have waited up."

She waved it off. "What kind of guest would I be if I didn't?"

He slipped his suit jacket off and draped it on the chair beside her, taking a rather undignified seat on the coffee table in front of her instead. "You know you're more than a guest."

She batted her eyes, "Don't make me blush, Master Winner."

"That'd be a first," he smiled.

She favored him a chuckle, "So you think." He blinked at her, but couldn't come up with a single time that he'd ever seen her blush over anything. Rethinking that, she cast him a quick glance. "...Never mind."

He narrowed his eyes, "Really?"

She rolled her eyes and waved him off. "So, did you have fun? Miss Nickels is usually quite… _enthused_ about her position."

He was taken aback again. "How do you know the Nickels?"

"We met with them a few times while on the Mars project."

"Oh." That made sense. "So, would you give them a recommendation?"

She eyed him, "Well, that depends on who you're more interested in dealing with," she cooed, "the Mr. or the Miss?" And he was just waiting for that predatory glimmer to enter her eyes. Instead, she blinked it away. "They are both quite reliable, though."

Quatre waited for a punch line that didn't come. He blinked, confused over the apparent twist in her thoughts. "…Dorothy?"

She turned back to him, still quiet.

There it was again, just some little oddity to her. "Dorothy… what's wrong?" he asked softly, searching her gray eyes for some clue.

They gave him a patient look. "I wish you wouldn't worry over me like this."

He rose back to his feet again, deciding that the coffee table was a rather uncomfortable decision. "Lady Catalonia, I am sorry to inform you that it's a bit too late for that."

There was a flicker through her eyes just before she dropped them down to her lap again, forcing a smile in its place. Quatre's heart froze to lead for a moment, a feeling of scared worry crossing through it that he wasn't sure was his. Shaking it off, she looked back up at him and extended a hand as she scooted herself to a sitting position.

He took it, and she tugged him down on the couch beside her. "I'm sorry. I have no intentions of troubling you over—"

She tried to remove her hand, but he didn't let her. Instead he turned to face her as much as possible, trying to sit sideways. "Dorothy, please, I know something's wrong. Talk to me," he whispered.

He watched her eyes go from surprised to scared, and before he could think of anything else to do, he watched her crack and emotionally fall apart. Her eyes squeezed shut, but it was too late for him not to notice the tears that built up in her lashes. Shocked beside himself, he stared at her as a tremor ran violently through her body.

That was the last straw as he dropped her hand and reached out for her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and forcefully pulled her to him. A tiny cry escaped her, but she made no move to protest. He moved both his arms to cradle her, her shoulder pressed into his chest, her head resting under his chin.

He caught himself praying a mantra of 'what do I do' over and over again.

He'd seen her cry before. He'd seen her break down before. But this was… frightening. He felt her body shudder and he knew that she wasn't holding back this time. Her free hand bunched around a piece of his shirt in a tight fist.

She needed this. He could understand that. After all, aside from a few tells, she had him completely fooled that she was perfectly fine all afternoon. Never would he have thought about this kind of emotional torture going through her. She needed to let this out, he could feel that…. She needed him.

Slowly that thought worked his shocked fright out of him again as he turned his face to lie against her head. Tightening his hold on her with one arm, he moved his other hand to brush her hair back from her face. He forced himself to relax, and he simply allowed her to cry. With each tremble, he held her closer or stroked her hair, not trying to calm her so much as reinforcing the idea that it was okay.

His poor, dear Dorothy had run into something that she just couldn't deal with on her own. And Quatre had a good idea that that single fact meant that it wasn't just about her. Dorothy was too solid of a person to allow herself to get this far down. This was bitter anguish, something that had to be inflicted by someone else.

Right now, he was forcefully not thinking about who or how. Dorothy was not familiar enough with his temper to let those thoughts go where they wanted. He knew he tended to have an overprotective side with his friends, but if she finally came out and said that someone had hurt her like this….

He again forced his mind away from those thoughts, and lightly brushed through her hair again. For all the outpouring coming from her, it wasn't going to last long. She was steadying, her nearly silent tears trailing off to sniffles.

There was a stifled gasp and she forcefully backed away from him, propping herself up as best as she could with one arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her free hand covered her face as she bowed her head to try and hide her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated in a hush over and over again.

"Dorothy," he tried, settling his hands back on her shoulders. "Please don't. It's alright." She sniffled again, and Quatre glanced around the room. Finding a tissue box on the side table in the corner, he leaned in and pecked a kiss on her forehead. "Don't move," he whispered.

He stood up quickly and snatched a tissue from the box. Thinking better of it, he brought back the whole box, setting it on the coffee table in front of them. Sitting beside her again, he handed her the tissue, and she took it, holding it to her nose although she still refused to look up at him. "Thank you," she mumbled.

A single, tiny tear dared to make its way out, and she quickly swiped it away. The commanding, headstrong, young woman in front of him was embarrassed to be caught crying. Why, at a time like this, he found that funny, Quatre wasn't sure, but he backed down the smile. Trying again, he reached out for her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, viciously wiping at her nose in annoyance.

Again he tried to hide the smile. "Now who's apologizing too much?" he softly teased. It succeeded in getting a tiny chuckle out of her as she dropped her head all the way down in dismay. Her hair was doing a good job of shrouding her, but he took both sides, and gently pushed it back, collecting it behind her. "Dorothy, it's alright," he whispered, slowly slipping his arms back around her.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to…" she trailed off as the arms he'd gotten around her again pulled her in closer.

He shushed her a moment as she slowly eased back into him. Not knowing if she was ready or not he gave her another minute. "Can you talk to me?" he tentatively asked, not exactly sure how to start this.

She sighed and then sniffed again. "How much whining can you listen to?"

And he smiled in spite of himself. It was back to the Dorothy he had become so accustomed to. "As much as you want to tell me."

He felt her shoulders relax some under his arm. "I… broke a man's heart," she whispered.

Out of every possible explanation that had run across his mind, nothing was even remotely close to coming to that conclusion. Quatre looked down at the top of her head, but kept himself from saying anything.

He heard her sigh, and regroup herself. "I went back to the chateau last week for a friend's art showing. That in itself was bad enough; I could hardly stand the place anymore."

Which, he mused, explained why she now lived in a cozy lakeside cottage instead of the three hundred room mansion that she'd grown up in.

"Between being back, and the showing, and the horde of 'well-wishers' over my grandfather… I wasn't in the best of spirits," she muttered, and Quatre cringed for her sake. "…But I left my entire life there behind me after the war," she softened.

He softly rubbed a hand over her back, coaxing her along.

"I had this, apparently stupid, notion that they wouldn't care if I disappeared anyway. Well, I was mostly right," she corrected. "The whole damned place could burn down with most of Romafeller inside it for all I care."

The vicious note to her voice startled him, and his concern moved in an entirely different direction this time. He moved his face into the hair at the top of her head, running a calming hand down her back.

She once again regrouped herself. "But… I was wrong. I left behind friends, my schoolmates, those few people in my life that actually mattered to me, and…" she cracked just a second before she forced it out. "And someone who wasn't prepared to let me go."

_Someone who loves you_, he finished in his own thoughts. Dorothy's life before the war had always been a mystery to him. He got glimpses now and again, but nothing really substantial. Still, the thought twisted in him.

"I never knew…" she whispered, tapering off as she huddled into him. "I never knew I could hurt someone like that."

And that was when it finally all came together in his head. Dorothy, in her innate kindness, couldn't handle the thought that she had unwittingly hurt someone else. The thought caved his chest in. Her dear, taped together heart didn't deserve this type of guilt. "You can't blame yourself," he tried, knowing it wasn't going to help.

Her head shook against him. "How can't I? I mean, how could I not _know_?"

That wasn't hard actually. "He never told you?" he asked softly.

"No," she whispered back. "Never even… I had no idea."

He turned his head to lay his cheek against her hair. "What happened?"

She paused, and he pulled her a little tighter to him. "He came to see me after the showing. I hadn't even talked to him since I moved out of the chateau. And even then… I didn't give him the chance to say anything. He finally just got tired of waiting for me."

He listened to her, mostly just wanting her to get it out. He hoped she didn't know how much his own heart was sympathetically breaking, just holding her like this and being able to do nothing. She took a trembling breath, and he knew she was fighting back the same emotions again.

"He… just came to close me out of his life finally."

_Not a chance_, he thought to himself.

"He wouldn't understand…."

That struck him. Obviously this hadn't been a pleasant conversation, but surely he hadn't just dropped this on her and walked away, had he? "What did you say?"

"Nothing. Nothing of any importance. He didn't give me the chance. Not that I could have said anything anyway." She gave him a humorless laugh. "How pathetic is that? Someone tells me that he'd loved me, and not only do I stand there and have nothing to say, I flee the planet and run to another man!"

He wasn't exactly sure he appreciated being "another man" but that wasn't the point right now. "Dorothy…."

"What's wrong with me?"

That was it. Whoever this jerk was, he had no right to destroy her self-confidence like this. No matter how angry or upset he was, any man who honestly loved her would never have been able to walk away and leave her like this.

He slipped a hand to her face and pushed her back, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at him. She stifled down a gasp at the sudden move, and he knew that she was afraid to meet his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you. You didn't do anything to deserve this."

Her watery blue-gray eyes stared up at him, a frightened look behind them that immediately made him forget the flash of anger. He had no idea what to do to help her out of this.

Tired of the awkward position, he leaned in again and wrapped his arms around her waist. All but picking her up, he scooted her basically into his lap. Leaning back against the couch cushions, he pressed her to him in a full hug.

She didn't seem to mind. Instead, he felt her knees pull up against his side to support her, and her arms wrapped gratefully around his neck. "I can't be sure about that," she whispered, settling in against his shoulder.

He softly brushed her hair out of his face. "What do you mean?"

She sighed against him. "This could be a very long story."

"I'm not going anywhere," he stated, meaning it two ways.

Dorothy relaxed against him, closing her eyes and finally feeling safe again. Poor Quatre, she couldn't imagine what she'd just put him through. "I'm not sure you really want to know this section of my life," she whispered, again feeling ashamed of dumping this on him.

He gently pushed her back again and she grudgingly met his eyes. "Try me," he challenged, a sincere look of worry to him again.

She honestly did not want to get into this with him. She'd flip-flopped forty times on the way here about telling him any of this at all. …He already knew too much for her liking. But she knew he wasn't going to let her go without hearing it.

Turning away, she took a deep breath and figured out a starting point. "Andrew Varnhem, the family heir to their Foundation membership. A year my senior, and the… answer to my grandfather's prayers," she scoffed.

She risked a glance at his face and knew that he got it. "If it was the end of the Dermail line, you should at least marry well?"

She inwardly cringed. "Something like that." His hands were still loosely around her waist, and he rubbed one at the small of her back, forcing her back to her story. "We were continually pressed together since we were old enough to walk. So, naturally, we hated each other," she smiled at the absurdity of the statement now.

Taking a hand away from his shoulders, she rubbed at the growing headache a moment before replacing the arm. "That was until high school, basically. Andrew, also known as the Admiral around the Academy, was… unavoidable."

"Academy?" he quietly broke in.

Meeting his eyes again, she let herself smile at him. "St. George Military Academy," she stated proudly.

He blinked, and she tried not to laugh out loud. "You went to a military academy?" came the incredulous question.

Suddenly just feeling happy to be with him, she nodded. The look of "that explains a lot" passed through his eyes, but he blinked it back, shutting up so she could continue. "Anyway, we both tended to be in the same programs, same crowd, and whatever. We eventually got to be… friends," she shrugged. "Neither one of us cared for the bad matchmaking attempts."

Dorothy sheepishly met his eyes again. "For two years we were on the fencing team together, and… co-captains."

He blinked and then gave her a deflated look. "I guess that means I shouldn't offer to go beat him up for you."

It took a second for her to believe that Quatre, of all people, had just said that, joking or not. She couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing. He tried to give her a weary smile before he too laughed with her. Calming some, she moved back in and wrapped him into a hug.

Suddenly, she knew exactly why she'd felt she had to come to him. No one else in her life would ever be able to do this to her. "I'm not one of those types of girls," she stated, finally loosening her hold on him.

"Oh, good," he sighed.

Although, the image of sweet, sensible Quatre finally breaking out that fiery streak and beating someone to a bloody pulp for her had its own appeal. "Not that I don't have every confidence in you, Darling," she teased, backing away to look down at him.

He rolled his eyes at her.

She shook her head, and figured out where she left off. "Andrew and I never really had anything that held us together… but we were together, I guess." And just like that, she'd crashed the happy mood that she was just in.

There was a moment that she didn't know what else to say as her mind flickered through images of her past, trying vainly to find the indications that should have alerted her to—

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

She didn't move, absolutely froze, her heart racing straight into an ice-block wall in her chest. After a breath, Dorothy met his eyes as he tenderly searched hers. How the hell was she going to answer that! She was sitting in his lap, their arms around each other, her nose all of eight inches away from his, and….

Why was she so freaked out about this?

"…No," she whispered, truthfully. "I actually never… felt that way for him." _Although there were a few times we were close_, she mentally admitted. He didn't say anything, but he was still looking for something, what she couldn't be sure, but he was really making her uncomfortable. "I mean, he was a friend. I…" she tried to focus. "I wouldn't have thrown that away, but I don't really have that choice anymore."

His eyes soften even farther, his concern almost tangible. "I'm sorry, Dorothy," he whispered.

She blinked, happy to be done with that at least. "What are you apologizing for?"

He shrugged, "I'm good at it."

She closed her eyes with smile, "You seem to have a talent for a great many things, Master Winner."

She felt him pull her in, and she easily settled against him as he tightly hugged her. "I hope so," he whispered.

She mildly kicked herself for this. He was going to be worried about her for months now. Just what he needed on top of everything else in his life, some ditzy blond blubbering about her love life to him. She sighed in spite of herself. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Quatre." She pulled back to look at him. "Don't you ever get tired of putting me back together?"

"Never," his expression leaving no doubts. Her heart puddled somewhere in her stomach, and she had to turn away. "…I don't believe it," came a near silent whisper. Turning back she found a cocky smile on his face as he stared at her. "You can blush."

That snapped her out it. "Quatre!"

He only grinned wider. "Give me a victory moment here."

"No!" Dorothy forced herself out of his arms, and off his lap, ending up sitting on her knees backwards on the couch beside him.

His laugh followed her, and she knew he wasn't kidding because she could feel herself getting redder. Groaning, she slumped over and buried her face as much as possible into the couch's back cushions. How much embarrassment could she take in front of one person?

"I'm sorry," came the, very un-heart-felt, apology.

"No you're not," she accused, not leaving her hiding spot.

"Alright, I'm not," he quipped.

Even she had to laugh at that. He was learning… maybe she was a bad example.

"OK," he calmed down. "So, tell me. Your academy wasn't typically… an all boys' school, was it?"

She finally turned out of the cushions and gave him an odd look. "Of course not. How would I get into that?"

He licked his lips. "This is you we're talking about."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but refused to comment. "I was one of thirteen girls, thank you," she snipped.

"Out of…?"

She crinkled her nose a little. "Two hundred-ish."

* * *

"The great gift of human beings is that we have the power of empathy." - Meryl Streep

"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." - Jane Austen

AN: Dorothy's life before the war: the largest mystery never answered by the GW writers. Well, I'm trying, I hope you guys like it. :) I have no idea where it was that I heard once that Dorothy attended a military academy before Relena's school, but I thought it fit so well that I stole it. This chapter is really long, and it should be longer, but that will have to wait for next time.

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	8. Chapter 8

"Revelations"  
By Isis  
Chapter 8

"It's not boot camp," Dorothy chuckled at him.

Quatre sat watching her, leaning sideways on the couch, one arm bent to rest against the back cushions and hold his head up. Dorothy was curled up beside him still, leaning back against the pillow on the arm, her head tilted against the corner cushion. Her knees were still drawn up together between them; her bare feet peeked just over front edge.

It kept them at a comfortable distance while they chitchatted. Close enough that he could watch the subtle variations in her expression and far enough away that she didn't feel like he was trying to smother her for information anymore. At least he hoped.

Shaking his head, he rubbed at his eyes a moment, before propping his head back up. "But it's a military academy," he said again, still not exactly over that idea.

Dorothy gave him a weary sigh. "It's just a private school with a few extra courses and a physical fitness requirement. What's the big deal?"

He gave her a smile. "What were the extra courses?"

"Tactics, statistics, a couple yearly survival seminars, some self-defense practice, whatever. We weren't running around with mobile suits playing war games."

"Allah be praised," he mumbled.

Rolling her eyes she moved one bare foot to lightly kick his knee next to it. "Oh, good grief. What did you expect? The prep finishing school that the rest of the 'princesses' went to?"

He chuckled at her little form of mock violence, and then shook his head. "I guess I should ask who the 'princesses' are before admitting to that."

She lifted her head from the cushion enough to scrutinize him a moment before obviously deciding something. "I suppose I'm used to everyone already knowing these things." Shaking her head, she resumed her pillow. "Any young woman of a Romafeller lineage is referred to as a 'princess,' casually of course. And it isn't always a flattering remark."

The nicknames of a society. "Ah. So Princess Dorothy wouldn't go over all that well?" he teased.

Her eyes narrowed at him, "No."

He backed down his expression.

Sighing, Dorothy rolled her eyes before closing them wearily. "I never really had that problem much. Typically I got the same worthless nickname that you guys seem to have taken a fancy to," she muttered.

Quatre paused, "Mistress?"

She looked back at him with a smile. "'The Mistress of Romafeller.' Yes. Somewhere, somehow, someone invented the little title for me, and it stuck. I was never exactly a good representation of the Foundation's female counterparts."

That sounded bitter to him, and he watched her, confused at what she meant. "You'll have to forgive me if I wouldn't agree with that," he said softly, hoping she wouldn't take offense to that.

To his mild surprise, she broke out and laughed at him. "Sweet, naïve Quatre," she cooed.

He gave her a mock-warning look for the insult although it certainly didn't do him any good.

Unfazed, she absently smoothed out one of her family-trademarked eyebrows, a mannerism that he associated with her more haughty side. "I've always been an exception. There is a large double standard amid the Foundation. It is the sons who are to be the great 'advancers of the cause,' and the 'war heroes.' The sons are ones who built the Foundation. Membership belonged only to the men, and with it, the voice was always, overwhelmingly, masculine."

"Which left the women…?" he took her bait.

She smiled, sighing to herself. "The women of Romafeller were the family, of course. The… eager supporters. The image maintainers, beautiful and charming."

He raised an eyebrow at her theatrical listing. "I'm still failing to see how you don't fit with that," he smiled.

"You're not getting two blushes in a night," she comically reproached him. "The women were to be sweet, kind, docile. The perfect counterparts to their serious and influential men. The princesses were to be quiet, gracious, considerate, and above all else… un-opinionated," she narrowed her eyes.

"Trophies," he mildly commented before he realized he'd said it out loud.

Her smirk came back to full force. "Exactly."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Now I can understand how you probably didn't fit in."

"Mild and humble?" She snorted, "Never."

He tried to bite back the laugh at her attitude. "I don't imagine that went over well."

She chuckled, her haughty act dropping as fast as it had come. "The Duke's granddaughter being a smart-mouthed, snippy, little retch of a child? No, that didn't go over well. Thankfully, I grew out it."

'Could have fooled me,' he mentally commented.

"I learned my trade as well as the next girl, but I retained a number of… peculiarities."

"Such as attending a military school?" he smiled.

She gave him a weary sigh but nodded. "Among other things, yes. I became a quiet conduit to my grandfather. Slowly the men of the council began considering a few 'innocent' comments, or a well-placed 'compliment'."

He blinked at her, the woman curled up on his couch slowly coming into focus for him in his mind. "You created yourself an influence."

Taking a deep breath, she tipped head back against the cushions again. "Slowly, yes. Over time, I grew to the point where questions came to me, rather than through me. That was when the title 'Mistress' got coined."

Suddenly, Quatre's understanding of what this solitary woman before him was capable of uprooted itself. A master manipulator since the tenderest of ages, she had come up in a world set completely against her, and forged a place for herself when no one believed one existed. A woman that would not hold her role as assigned, and someone so utterly hell-bent on being what she wanted.

"I slowly became a council member's favorite sounding board, but the woman no little girl wanted to be," she gave him a humorless chuckle.

He blinked. "Why? You should have been an inspiration."

She turned back to him, and he caught the sadness buried in her eyes, although he was sure she didn't mean to show it. "Oh no, the Ladies and proper women wanted nothing to do with me. I was not spoken about fondly in those circles."

"Jealous," he reasoned.

She turned away, her expression glazing over slightly. "Of a pitiable war-orphan without a mother to 'correct' her way-ward thinking and create a proper, demure, not to mention marry-able, young girl? No. They were anything but jealous of me."

He didn't have time to respond to the heartbreaking statement before she turned her eyes to him again, narrowed and with that ever-famous smirk gracing her lips.

"It was always the gentlemen who were kind to me," she cooed.

Quatre slowly backed down his concern again. "That doesn't seem to have changed."

Her smile softened out to be genuine again as she once again pillowed her head on the couch back. "Thankfully, no," she sighed, closing her eyes.

Of course not. This woman was too masterful of her craft to be left out in the cold. Manipulation was only one part of her history. She had rebuilt an entire society around her. Her charms had worked over the pompous men of position, and her mind and strategic planning had won the most influential men on Earth.

Quatre watched her a moment as she rested her eyes, wondering just how intimidated he should feel with her. If she could chew through the entire stated order of the Romafeller Foundation and rise herself above them, then how much could she…

No. He couldn't think of her like that. Dorothy had every wit and grace she needed to rearrange an unfair system in her favor. But she was still a woman with a beautiful heart, one that was still being uncovered after years of the abuse.

And a heart that he still admired… and was afraid for.

Looking over her again, he softly realized that she wasn't going to stay awake much longer if he left her snuggled into the couch. Slowly rising to his feet, he got her to blink her eyes back open as she looked up at his now standing height. "You could use some rest."

Offering her a hand to help her up, she gave him a tired smile for it. "I haven't been very good company for you this evening," she said, taking his hand and slipping her feet to the floor.

He shook it off as he pulled her up, and then in until he could wrap his other arm around her. Slipping his cheek next to hers he felt her release his hand and she easily moved to hug him back. "I hope you feel that you can come to me anytime," he whispered to her.

He felt her nod softly. "You have no idea how many times I talked myself out of this on my way here."

"I hope it wasn't a wasted trip." He tightened his hold on her a moment, feeling her against him. It wasn't so much her physical presence that he was happy to hold onto, so much as the idea that she was here.

There was a light chuckle, "Someday I'm going to figure out just how you're so good at this."

He smiled, truly hopeful that he'd helped. They pulled back and he felt her fingers smooth through the hair at the back of his neck. A feeling that he was slowly identifying with her alone, a number of memories brought back by the light touch…

He looked down, finding her eyes just as they fluttered open, glancing over his neck and then his lips. Quatre's breath caught for a second as the remembered touch lingered just a second before her hand pulled back from his neck.

But just as quickly as her eyes paused over his lips, they turned away and blinked back closed in an instant. But it wasn't quick enough to shut out the expression from him. She pulled back, easily slipping away like she always seemed to.

Fear, insecurity… everything that he did not want to see in her, especially right now. He watched after her as she casually picked up her shoes from the corner of the couch to carry them with her. "Perhaps I can find a way to thank you for this tomorrow, Master Winner."

Quatre drew in a breath finally and swallowed, backing down the urge to tell her he knew she wasn't really better. "No need," he answered instead. "Will you stay a day or two?" he asked, knowing if she slipped away while he was at work it would be months before he saw her again.

"I don't want to impose," she stated, turning back to him.

He shook his head, "I'd insist if I knew your schedule was clear." Silently he pleaded with her to stay, to at least give him another chance to help her through this.

She gave him a genuine laugh that at least gave him some hope. "My positions, unlike yours, are very easily rearranged." Turning away again, she headed for the door. "I will promise that I can always be available for you."

Picking up his jacket he moved after her, believing her words. "Then I will insist," he stated, following her out of the sitting room and towards the stairs.

"Only if I won't be a bother," she warned, giving him a look.

He nodded easily, "Of course."

She eased her expression and slipped back to wrap an arm through his. "Thank you."

* * *

Quatre realized at about the time that his alarm quietly buzzed at him that he was being very unfair towards one Andrew Varnhem… And he didn't care. He hated him. Absolutely loathed the man, even though he knew it was wrong and completely uncalled for. 

He'd get over that. It was just the immediate reaction to the hurt that he knew Dorothy was feeling. And he honestly had no idea what to do to help her, which only added to the negative emotions running through him.

Clicking off the near-silent buzz, which was about the only sound that didn't scare the crud out of him every morning, he threw the covers back and got up. He dressed quickly for his usual morning run, silently slipping out of his rooms and into the hallway.

He paused just a moment outside of the door to the room Dorothy was staying in. Placing a hand gently on the wood in the dark hallway, he silently hoped she was at least resting. Hearing nothing to make him believe otherwise, he continued downstairs and out the back door. He started out at a slow jog as he circled around the back pathways through the tiny garden and the various other sections of the private property.

Aside from the dimly lit morning runs, he was almost never out here. Every morning he thought it was a shame that so much work went into maintaining the pool and the tennis court and everything else, when he never had any need for it. Although, for lack of anything else to do with it, he left everything as it was.

As he passed the house again, making his laps, he picked up his pace, knowing how long he had before he needed to get back inside. By this lap he was already back to Dorothy and her history… which had all seemingly chosen the same time to attack her.

Reanalyzing their conversations from last night, he tried vainly to find something to advise her with. The obvious problem that needed resolved was her 'relationship' with Mr. Varnhem. Although his own personal thought on what to do with that situation wasn't something he figured he could actually advise her to do.

He had to stop thinking like that.

More than likely, he hadn't meant to hurt her like he had. Andrew had been hurt, obviously, and Quatre could softly admit to himself that he couldn't blame the man for wanting some closure. After all, if what Dorothy had said was true, he'd been waiting for her for two years, and knowing that she wasn't going to ever come back to him… when she didn't even know how he felt.

As he passed the house again, he quickened his pace again, heading out at a fast run.

Slowly he began to understand that portion of the story. Andrew was trying to put her behind him, enabling himself to move forward without the nagging doubts that he had to have felt during that time. Because, for whatever he may have said, the very fact that he had faced her with his emotions meant that he wasn't over her. If he were, he would have simply slipped away.

No, he was looking for some sort of closure, something to ease his heart so he could go on. Or… Or he was looking for a way to get her back still.

That was something Quatre hadn't thought of before. If this man actual knew Dorothy, he would know that she wouldn't be able to just let this go. Perhaps he wanted her to come back to him, one way or another, seeing if she cared enough to apologize, and if so… If so, then she may care enough to give them another chance. A chance that he had been waiting for these past years.

Somehow that didn't help his opinion of Andrew Varnhem any.

The simple fact that he had hurt her and walked away nagged at him. Quatre simply couldn't believe that a man truly in love with her could walk in after so long, spout out a bunch of pent up emotions and walk away, leaving her in a twisted mess of guilt. Finding her again, he could have talked to her, and yes, maybe even confessed his feelings for her.

But to leave her like that… It wasn't right.

He rounded back towards the house again and broke into a sprint, dodging around the pathways as quickly as he could.

It wasn't right to dump it on her and expect her to just accept it. If he loved her, he should have understood what it would do to her. Heck, Quatre would have known what it would do to her, even before this. How did a man who had known her 'since she could walk' not be able to see what it would do?

The idea that he had to have known it would crush her worked back through his mind as he slowed his pace again as the path turned beside the house once more. His empathic side was working over time trying to sort through this.

The man may honestly think that he was in love with her, he might have been at one time, but he certainly wasn't anymore. Dorothy didn't deserve to be subjected to that.

…But did she need to give it a second chance?

As much as the idea grated on his conscience, he couldn't deny that if she did feel even something for him, she should at least try to speak with him one more time. He knew that she had more feelings for Andrew than she had said. He believed her that she'd never held him in that kind of regard, but there was still something more. And the last thing she needed was a 'what if' for the rest of her life.

How was he supposed to give her that kind of advice? He wanted to tell her to lock her doors and forget the jerk.

'You're being over-protective again,' his own mind sing-songed back to him. 'Not to mention paranoid,' he added.

The man was hurt, wounded, and it had been festering for years. Quatre had to at least give him the benefit of the doubt that he'd just emotionally snapped a little. If given a chance, that could easily fall away, the love that he professed to have for her could come back…

He slowed to a jog again, realizing that he'd missed his timing as he absently rounded the pathways without noticing.

He still just wanted her to throw him away and forget it.

But she couldn't. His poor Dorothy was still getting used to the idea of showing her kindness; all this was going to do was revert her back in.

That look last night had honestly scared him. Kindness or not, she had shied away from her own personality quirk. She had pulled herself back, restraining a part of herself that hadn't changed at all since before the war, he was sure.

Dorothy Catalonia was a charmer, a woman overly bold with her feminine wiles. And as much as he was still getting used to that about her, he understood that her affections were genuine and soft, despite the brazen attitude she usually presented to him.

Maybe he was reading too much into it. If the situation had progressed as he had thought it could have… Alright, he probably wouldn't have actually done anything more than stand there like an idiot as usual. Well, aside from the time on Mars—but he wasn't getting into that.

It still didn't make up for the fact that he had seen fear in her eyes, and an insecurity that he didn't understand. Why with him? He thought that she could trust him better than that. He hoped that she didn't think he would brush her aside like this other guy had…

That wasn't it.

He let himself slow to a stop somewhere between the garden and the extra garage at the edge of the property. Dorothy wasn't afraid of being rejected, she was afraid of being received. She was afraid of… "Oh no," he breathed, closing his eyes a moment.

She was afraid of getting too close to someone and repeating what happened with Andrew. She was afraid of letting someone else fall in love with her.

Her confidence had been shattered. Her insecurity was that she was so good at her role of being 'Romafeller's Mistress' that she couldn't turn it off. She couldn't trust herself if someone could fall for her without her even knowing it.

He puffed out a sigh between his elevated breathing and continued quickly on, knowing by the lighting that he should be in the shower by now if he was going to stick to his routine.

What could he possibly do now?

* * *

"What are you going to do now?" came the timidly worried voice from the other end of the line. 

Dorothy sighed to herself, lounging on a deck chair next to the pool. "I don't know. But I know what I shouldn't have done."

"What's that?"

"Told Quatre," she answered honestly. "The man can worry himself to death over anything."

There was an understanding chuckle, "He's just concerned. You can't fault him for that. Besides… it's not everyday that your girlfriend comes crying to you about her ex."

Dorothy pulled the phone away from her ear enough to let out a loud, frustrated groan. Picking it back up she frowned, although the other couldn't see it. "Miss Relena, honestly, for someone in your position, one would think that you would have more tact."

Her little spout didn't stop the chuckle from the other end of the line. "Oh, Dorothy, I'm just trying to make you feel better."

"You're doing a lousy job of it," she grumbled.

"Fine. So what did Quatre say?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes to herself. "Well, today over lunch he attempted to give me the advice that I should at least try to talk to him again and make myself feel better. That was before he choked over his own words, of course."

"What do you mean?"

Dorothy chuckled despite herself. "He finally sighed and told me to just 'forget the jerk.'"

"…We aren't talking about the same Quatre, are we?"

She nodded to herself. "Well, there was a whole paragraph in front of that, but that's the only thing I heard. The whole café probably thought I went nutty, I was laughing through the whole meal."

Relena chuckled on the other end. "And his reasoning behind calling him a jerk was…?"

Dorothy felt herself sink down into the same mixed up feelings she'd been having since this started. "He's invented eight or ten good excuses for what happened. How the man can think so hard about something that's not actually his problem I will never know. But, basically he's come to one of his conclusions that maybe Andrew just honestly wanted to make me feel bad."

There was a lengthy pause. "That's a horribly mean spirited thing to do to someone, especially if you claim to love them."

"I know. And I don't believe it," Dorothy answered. "I mean, I know this guy, he might be Romafeller stock, but he's not that bad."

"Well… what do you think?" she asked.

Sighing, she rubbed a hand at her temple. "I think he really wanted to come to say goodbye. I suppose I can see that he hadn't wanted me to exactly feel good about the whole thing, but I don't think his goal was really to be spiteful. I… hurt him, and I guess he needed to just finally write me off."

Again there was a pause, and Dorothy could make out a rustle in the background. "Dorothy… did you love him?"

Again her heart squashed itself flat in her chest, but she didn't want to show it. "No. I never thought of him like that. It took us years to even get to be friends…" Sighing in pure irritation she figured she might as well get this out. "I may have had a few crushes on him now and again though."

"Crushes?" There was a stifled giggle that she obviously wasn't doing a good job of controlling.

Dorothy began drumming her nails on the edge of the lounge chair. "Miss Relena, you are going to make me regret this conversation."

The rustle in the background was louder this time. "Alright, alright. Did you like him or not?"

"Yes, I liked him," she answered bitterly.

"But you weren't in love with him?"

"No."

"And he never said, or showed, anything to you about liking you back?"

"No."

"And you're sure you don't have any real feelings for him now?"

"Yes."

The rustle came again. "I'm sorry; I just don't have any idea what to do to help. Quatre's probably right, if you don't want to loose him completely you're going to have to talk to him again… although you'd certainly be a braver person than I am."

"I would never say that Miss Relena," Dorothy smiled into the phone.

"Yeah, for all my political worth, if someone suddenly showed up and said something like that to me I'd curl up and cry and never be able to look at them again."

Dorothy didn't think she was too far off. "There's nothing I can do about how I acted to him before. The only thing I can do is try to apologize."

"Dorothy… you really don't sound bad at all for going through this… but are you OK?"

The worry in the other's voice stilled her a moment. The two were getting much better at their 'friendship' but honestly they were still on two different sides of the stream. "I'm fine."

"Alright. But if it's any consolation, if Quatre can't fix you, you're welcome to come stay with me for a while."

"I do not need to be fixed," she grumbled.

"Yeah, but you don't have to go back there right away. And it's nice to have friends around sometimes." There was a smile to her voice as she continued, "I think I'm proud of you for going to see Quatre."

She raised an eyebrow, "Proud? All I managed to do is make him worry over me."

"Quatre worries anyway. He cares, that's his job. But at least you didn't keep this all bottled up."

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "I think it was stupid to come. I mean, it helped, I won't deny that, but now I'm worried that he's worried."

There was a soft chuckle, "You two are cute, you know that?"

"Relena," she growled out a warning.

"Dorothy," she returned mockingly the same way. "You can't help that he's worried for you, anymore than you can help what this other guy feels. You keep mumbling about him being bad at remembering what's his fault and what's not, you have to start looking at yourself the same way."

Dorothy sobered, quickly glancing around the area for anyone within earshot. "What if this is my fault?" she said softly.

"…What do you mean?" came the confused reply.

"Relena," she sighed. "Andrew and I were forced together so much when we were younger that we just sort of got used to it. When we finally got to be friends, I thought we'd really be able to ignore it, see what happened from there. I never expected anything to, but I know I… Maybe he thought that I wanted to."

"To what?" she questioned softly.

"To be more," she answered, the nagging doubts eating at her.

"Why would he think that?"

"Because…" she swallowed. How did she explain this?

"Because you liked him?" she asked.

"No. Well, yes. Sort of." She invented a playful 'Relena-friendly' curse for the occasion and rolled her eyes again. "Quatre actually called me a flirt."

There was a lengthy pause. "You're sure we're still talking about the same Quatre?"

"Yes. And he actually told me that," she grumbled, mostly to herself.

"Well you are, but that's beside the point."

"Well, what if Andrew took me seriously?" she sobered again. Dorothy pulled her knees up on the full-length chair, lowering her voice farther. "What if Quatre takes me seriously?"

This time the rustle was loud and quick as Relena obviously moved somewhere. "Dorothy what are you talking about?"

"Well… how exactly does this look to you? I go through some emotional break down and the first thing I do is run to a man who I've always been a 'flirt' to, expecting him to be sympathetic." She cringed in spite of herself, again glancing around for other signs of life.

"Personally, it sounds to me like you knew he _would_ be sympathetic, and that you consider him a confidant."

"What if he doesn't see it that way?" she meekly asked, afraid of herself for some reason.

"What? Dorothy, you're doubting your relationship with Quatre because of Andrew. That's not fair. They are two different people. 'Different' being the key to this. Quatre would never even consider doing something like that, even if he was in the same situation, which he's not."

"…I don't want him to be," she stated more forcefully than she felt.

"You don't want him to what? I thought you spent the first twenty minutes of my call telling me there is nothing going on between you two."

"There isn't," she sighed. "But I've thought that before about someone and been wrong."

"Dorothy… Alright, be honest with me. Do you like Quatre?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't be sitting by his pool if I didn't."

"…He has a pool on colony?"

Dorothy gave up and chuckled. "Yes, right next to a huge dehumidifier."

"Huh… Anyway! So, you trust him, right?"

She shook her head in dismay. "Yes, dear, I trust him."

"Then why are you worried about it? So Quatre thinks you're a flirt. From what I've seen he has every right to think that, along with all the rest of the Maguanacs. That doesn't change anything. He cares, and he's worried for you, that's all. And that's perfectly alright."

Dorothy bit back the reply she wanted to say, knowing she'd already confessed too much to this woman. "I'm sure you're right."

"He's not the only one either," she added softly.

And just like that, Dorothy felt guilty again.

"Would it really be so bad if he started to care more for you?" she softly asked.

Dorothy shivered involuntarily. "…No, of course not," she lied as convincingly as she could.

"Quatre's all heart, we all know that. Enjoy it," she teased.

She closed her eyes on the comment and forced herself to chuckle. Relena just honestly didn't get it. How could she be so selfish as to take the chance with him when she knew full well that something between them would be catastrophic?

Shaking it off quickly, she returned to the phone. "So, how's your stoic love-interest these days?"

There was a lengthy sigh. "Just how much time did you spend around Duo?"

"Hey, there's an awful lot of nothing to do between here and Mars," she muttered, happy to move the conversation to something else.

"Heero is… usual. He seems to keep busy between all of us," she casually replied.

A bit too casually. Dorothy felt a wicked smile crack her expression. "Really? So, you don't often get him all to yourself?" she cooed.

"Dorothy, stop that." And she could almost picture her starting to blush.

"Oh, Miss Relena, you can tell me."

"I take back my offer to have you stay here."

She laughed merrily, and slipped her legs back out along the deck chair. "You wouldn't deny me the opportunity to live vicariously, now would you?"

"With Heero, or in general?" she snipped back.

Oh, she knew she was going to pay for that 'man in uniform' comment. "Just in general, of course."

"Nothing to report," she answered in 'Heero' fashion.

She laughed again, surprised at how easy it was to tease her these days. "Nothing new and exciting?" she pressed.

"…I have a meeting with an L3 group about staffing problems on one of the food colonies."

"Not what I meant," she grumbled.

* * *

Quatre got home at the record time of five twenty-two. Not that he managed to get a whole lot done today anyway. The morning was taken with an assortment of meetings that he was going to have to read the minutes of in order to remember. And the afternoon had been far too long considering that he couldn't concentrate on anything. 

He wandered through the house for most of ten minutes before he found a cook who informed him that a group of his 'friends' had shown up this afternoon and were speaking with 'the Lady' out by the pool. Quatre thanked her, and then mentally kicked himself for forgetting that he was supposed to go through planning with Rasid, Abdul and Auda tonight.

This should be fun to explain.

He walked past the back deck and around the side of the walkways to the pool area. He easily spotted Dorothy lounging in a deck chair in the middle, her phone, a book, and a glass of something sitting casually on the ground beside her. However, she seemed to be interested more in the two Maguanac soldiers that came into view for him from behind the garden wall.

Abdul and Auda sat on the two-foot edging of cement between her and the pool… soaking wet.

"Quatre! How was work?" Dorothy comically greeted, ignoring the obvious question.

He blinked between the three of them as the two men mumbled to themselves and didn't meet his eyes. "…Honestly, I don't even want to know," he shook his head.

Dorothy chuckled happily and picked up her drink for a sip. The other two failed to make any reply either. "Well, I didn't know you guys had plans for the evening. I hope I won't interrupt," she demurely blinked up at him as he came to stand beside her.

He shook his head, "Not at all." Checking the pool and then the surrounding area he turned back to the others. "Where's Rasid?"

"He was going to meet us later, had a few things to check on," Abdul answered, ringing out his soggy fez back into the pool.

Quatre tried, he honestly did, but that was the last straw as he attempted to bite back the laugh.

"Oh, go ahead. I've been laughing at them for the last twenty minutes," Dorothy mumbled, swirling her drink. The two cast her a set of evil looks as she sweetly batted her lashes at them.

"I still think someone needs to go for a swim," Auda muttered.

"I told you, I don't have suit," she waved them off.

"I don't remember having one either," Abdul eyed her, his sunglasses forsaken next to his shoes beside him.

"Well that's what you get," she sniffed.

The two exchanged a look and Quatre suddenly decided Dorothy was asking for it. "Maybe we should get you some towels," he tried.

"Grab three," Abdul said, rising to his feet beside his partner.

"Guys," he warned. It at least got them to pause… until he couldn't come up with a good enough reason to stop them.

She giggled at their approach, taking another sip from her glass before setting it aside. "You boys are persistent, aren't you?"

"Dorothy, you're not helping yourself," he tried.

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Mr. Winner," she looked him over, "you seem rather… washable today too."

Forgoing a full suit this morning he'd settled into a typical pair of khakis and a dress shirt, running late enough to even forget a vest. He looked down at her, wondering how he suddenly got to become a target too.

He heard the two hum to themselves and looked up to find a couple of mischievous glints to their eyes. "What did I do?"

Dorothy again sipped at her drink, and he turned back to her a second too late to make out the eye signals she was giving them over the rim. But it was enough of a hint as the two came around her chair from both sides, Abdul rushing straight at him and Auda swinging around the long ways to catch him from the back.

Neither expected him to take their instigator as cover though. Using Dorothy's weight on the deck chair, he took one step up on it next to her, removing himself from Abdul's initial reach, and allowing time for Auda to make it around. Their momentums already carried them towards each other as he literally stepped over Dorothy and ended up on the other side of them.

He had a time advantage as the two had to turn from their initial contact point to a new one. Holding up both hands he tried to wave them off, but he didn't get the chance to say anything as they both headed back for him again.

Quatre quickly back peddled towards the pool's edge as Auda took the same route he did, over Dorothy instead of around her again, in one long-legged hop. He got the chance to duck the taller man's initial grab for his shoulder, catching an arm and pivoting around to pin it behind him. Abdul tried to skid to a stop as the 'target' suddenly ended up behind his partner.

Quatre didn't let them lose their forward motion as he used Auda's larger frame and pushed him into Abdul's attempt to stop. Releasing Auda's arm, he sent them both a final shove, courtesy of a foot against the small of his back, and the two took an unceremonious dive into the pool.

The splash was enough to spray the younger pair anyway, so he wasn't sure why he'd just tried so hard. The two men sputtered back to the surface in the chin height water.

He turned finally back to Dorothy who had lost her comfy appearance as she stared at the two doubly-soggy soldiers. She sat bolt upright, a bit wide-eyed by the whole ordeal.

"Now then," he stated to her. "Was that the best you can do?"

She heard the haughty challenge he'd purposefully put in his voice, and he tried very hard not to crack up laughing at the surprise on her face. But just as quickly her eyes narrowed, sparkling in that predatory fire he knew she had.

Glancing back down at the water, she gave the other two a weary sigh. "I guess it is," she muttered.

"Someone drown her," Abdul muttered. Auda splashed him for the comment, and the two started a water fight.

Quatre however, hadn't turned away from her. "You should realize that purposefully creating a division among the Maguanac family is punishable by expulsion."

She looked back up at him, leaning herself back on the hands she had behind her. "Was I not informed of all the rules before you gentlemen bestowed my title?"

"Apparently not," he returned.

The smirk came up full scale as she met his challenge. "Well, what do you intend to do about it?"

Again, it took everything he had not to laugh at her. "You can apologize one of two ways."

Her legs slipped apart, placing one foot on each side of the lounge chair, although she was still at a large disadvantage if she was trying to run away. One forked eyebrow rose, "What if I don't want to apologize at all?"

"Not an option."

"Oh?" She placed her hands between her legs to lean forward on them. "Then what are my 'options'?"

"Wet or dry."

"Wet!" Abdul cried from somewhere behind them.

Neither of them bothered to check to see where he was.

"Really?" she cooed. She held his eyes another moment, before blinking them closed. "Alright." Slowly she pushed to her feet, stepping away from the chair just a pace. She slipped her hands together behind her back, and finally reopened her eyes to him, pure evil glittering brightly. "…Wet is it then."

Quatre mentally cursed. He hadn't actually expected that.

"Don't worry, we'll catch you," Auda muttered from behind them, the two apparently not having bothered to get out of the pool yet.

Stand off. Either she was going in, or he was eating his words. Now what?

The eyebrow twitched again, and she slipped a slow pace forward. "Come now, don't make me repeat that," she cooed.

"Yeah, toss her overboard," came the comment from behind him.

Quatre let himself smile at the comment. "You're sure you want to be thrown to the sharks?" he commented, never moving his eyes from her in case she was trying to bolt.

"Sharks? I don't see anyone with teeth around here." She took another closing step towards him, slow and easy, no sudden movements, her arms staying behind her back.

Crap. Quatre had no actual desire to throw her in, no matter how much she deserved it; she was a woman… and Dorothy.

"You should really just apologize and get it over with," he stalled.

The smirk came back as she took another step, coming within only a few feet of him. "You know what I think?" she whispered, forcefully meeting his eyes. She took one more slow step, coming up within easy reach. "I think I want to know if you have the guts, Master Winner."

She was honestly trying to force his hand! He searched her eyes, forcing the comment not to affect him. If she wanted him off balance, she wouldn't get it. But behind the steely grays was a sparkle of mischief, humor… curiosity maybe. "What are you really looking for?" he questioned her back.

She softly closed her eyes on him; obviously deciding he'd had enough of a peek. "Oh, no. You gave me an ultimatum. I chose. Simple as that."

He smirked, cracking just a little while her eyes were still closed. "Alright." Fine.

Quatre snagged an arm around her waist, pulling her forward; he moved them both to the pool edge, before purposefully tripping her with one foot. She took a surprised gasp, grabbing for the one arm he had around her as he held her, dipped directly over the edge of the pool.

She looked up at him, surprise evident, but malice still present. "Last chance," he offered. The other two started a chant of 'drop her' from the shallower end. "I have two votes. Now apologize." Quatre was silently proud of himself for not backing down from her.

Until her eyes narrowed yet again, her death grip on his arm, which was supporting three quarters of her weight, slipped away. She stared up at him, completely at his mercy. "Then drop me."

What? Quatre didn't even try to hide that. Was she serious? One more look in those eyes and he knew she was. This was a test of some sort, although no matter what he tried he was going to flunk, he had no clue what she was up to.

"You can't keep me out here forever," she cooed. "Drop me and teach me a lesson, or back down."

She was right; he was going to have to let her go soon enough. But…

He sighed in utter defeat as he closed his eyes and brought them both back upright, and her back solidly to her feet. His two friends groaned their complaints, although he was sure they knew he wouldn't be able to do it either.

"Well, you are a sweetheart." She slipped from his grasp. He didn't bother to look at her, feeling like he'd really lost this time. She ran a hand absently to his shoulder as she stepped behind him. She obviously leaned in, pecking a tiny kiss on his cheek and then whispered in his ear. "You should have dropped me."

He had no time to react before he felt her swiftly shove him for all she was worth straight over the side of the pool. He took a mouthful of water down with him until he forced himself back up spitting it out. Quatre turned, his bangs dripping into eyes as he moved to look incredulously up her.

Dorothy squatted down to lean over the edge where she'd pushed him in. The other two hooted their acceptance of at least getting someone else wet. But Quatre was beside himself, still sputtering mildly, wiping the hair out of his face.

"Darling," she cooed, her smile at least gentler this time, but still clouded with that look. "You may be exceptionally sweet, but at least I know you won't melt," she winked.

Apparently she'd been testing more to see if he actually would dunk her in here. …He should have.

She rose again to her feet and looked them all over, her little game won for the moment. "Now then, I'll go see about those towels for you guys."

* * *

Dorothy hummed along to herself as she walked back down the path towards the pool, four towels in hand. By this time it was just starting to get dark and she figured that she should really allow the poor boys to dry off and take some of their dignity back. 

Besides, with Rasid thoroughly drenched now too, she was out of playmates, and pushing her luck that she could keep them from ganging up on her any longer. The poor dears. They were all far too chivalrous for their own good, especially with someone so experienced at this particular game.

The four men lounged around the poolside, air-drying as they waited for her to come back. Quatre and Rasid had managed only a single dunk this evening where the other two had gotten water logged three times.

Dorothy bit back the happy chuckle that threatened her as she walked up to them again. "Here we are, as requested." All four of them stoically looked up at her, near murderous intentions written on their faces. "Well, don't everybody thank me at once."

Still no reaction as she pursed her lips together and looked them over. Setting the stack of white towels down on the nearest chair she shrugged to them. "Well, the nice cook that helped me get these said that dinner is going to be cold if you don't hurry."

That at least got them to move, forgetting their bitterness for the time. They were making this far too easy…

"Poor dear souls," she muttered to herself with a shake of her head. Turning away she went to return to the house and help set up for dinner, hopefully amending herself with the group.

"Dorothy, you forgot something," Quatre called her back.

Her blood chilled down just a second as she turned back to them. If they'd plotted something while she was gone then she was going to be in a world of hurt. None of them seemed suspicious though and Quatre nodded back over to her chair that she'd resided in most of the day, with her book and phone next to it.

"Oh, well thank you." She forced herself into an unsuspicious calm as she moved around the group to retrieve the items. "By the way, Miss Relena said to tell you hello," she stated, giving her a pausing conversation if he'd really planned something.

"When did you speak with her?" he asked, calmly picking his way towards the others and the stack of towels.

"She called to chat this afternoon while you dear gentlemen were out."

"'Dear gentlemen?'" Abdul snorted.

"Don't try making up for it now," Auda returned.

These guys were priceless. Smiling, she slipped back to them, "Well you are." She patted Auda on the back before making her way around them. "Who else could I count on so readily," she smirked, unable to keep from ribbing them just one more time.

She heard a sigh from behind her and knew that Quatre was going to have words with her when they were alone again. She'd deal with him later.

She was not prepared to have a set of arms mercilessly grab her around the waist and drag her back. Dorothy let out a surprised squeak as she fought for balance just before her assailant rounded on her. She got a flash of blond as someone picked her off her feet and pushed a shoulder into her stomach, standing up and taking her with him.

Finding herself facing the ground now she reflectively went into self-defense as Quatre walked her towards the ever-present pool. Dropping her items, she set about trying to claw at his back. "Quatre let go of me!" she finally got out.

"Soon enough," came the unfazed answer as the three other men cheered him on.

Dorothy tried furiously to kick her legs free from his two armed hold on her but got nowhere. Her hands had managed to pull his damp shirt un-tucked and she had a very un-ladylike hold on his belt and pants. Were this a real fight, she wouldn't hesitate to scratch the bloody heck out of him, along with taking a chunk out of his shoulder blade with her teeth, but she restrained herself that far.

As it was, if she went in, he was going with her… or getting disrobed.

She felt him shift her and she tried again to yell in his ear. "Quatre!"

The only response was a mound of her own hair getting tossed back in her face instead of his. Fine. If he was finally going to play, she'd let him. She took a two-fisted hold on his trousers, possibly getting a little more than she bargained for, hanging on for dear life.

She gasped out loud, trying to look up from her backwards vantage point as he swiveled around. "Little help here," he calmly asked of the others.

"No!" she cried as Auda and Abdul were happy to come over and begin prying her hands off of him. "No, stop!"

They yanked her hands away from their hold and she had to bite back a minor yelp of pain as they were a little rougher than necessary.

"Wait!" she tried her last effort.

Quatre wasn't listening. She hadn't meant to, but they all got the satisfaction of hearing a short gasp as she was flipped over and flung over the edge. She collided with the water and rolled over, swimming back to the surface as gracefully as she could control herself to, which wasn't much.

Shorter than the three older men, she had to keep herself afloat in the deep waters in the middle of the pool, as she turned to find them laughing at her. Quatre knelt to one knee at the edge and gave her a half-sheepish, half-triumphant smile. "I know you're not sweet enough to melt, but I'm hoping you're just nice enough to avoid it the other way."

The old 'wicked witch of the West' remark narrowed her eyes at him before she decided she couldn't keep from laughing any longer. Cracking up must have been the one thing none of them expected. Finally shaking it off, she turned an evil smile back to him. "Nice to see you have it in you," she whispered.

Moving to float on her back she picked her feet up and kicked, splashing him. His mostly-dry appearance once again got a fairly good dowse.

The others got their turn to laugh at him instead as she flipped down under the water, swimming for the shallow end at the side. Her hair smoothed out behind her as she slowly rose from the water again and began walking up the gentle slope and then up the stair steps on the end.

Well, if these boys intended to play, she was game… in more ways than one.

Her lightweight linen slacks drooped under the weight of the water in them, and she didn't bother to pull them up from their newly lowered position over her hips. The plain, lime green shirt she wore clung in a sticky wet mess to her as she rose out of the water and back onto the cement.

Turning around towards them, she raised her arms enough to move the dripping shirt up just enough as she pulled her useless headband out of her hair. Sauntering over to them again, she quietly noted the laughter and comments die down just a few notches. Perfect.

She began squeezing the water out of her hair a little at a time. "Well, now we've all had our baths, haven't we?" she muttered.

'A few more steps.'

"Well, at least we're even," Quatre tried as she made her way beside him.

"Of course," she cooed. And then she purposefully flipped the soggy mess of her hair's length over her shoulder… 'accidentally' slapping him in the chest with it. She gasped, and then turned quickly back around, getting him again. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said to him, finally making her 'apology.' Wet, as promised. And then she once again rounded to continue on, just brushing him the third time.

No one actually believed that was an accident, and she took a large amount of pride in ruining his little victory celebration… not that he didn't deserve one.

Calmly she sauntered over, grabbing the two top towels as the group continued laughing. "Well, since I saw fit to bring these, I guess you guys can just share," she sniffed, taking them with her as she began wrapping her hair up in the first one. Taking her time, she bent over and gathered it in the towel, the laughter dying slightly again. Pulling it up, she fiddled with getting it to stay, her arms above her head and her shirt riding high enough to expose a slight amount of dripping skin.

Finishing her display, she sauntered off; collecting her items again, and patting the rest of herself dry as she slipped slowly towards the house. 'You guys may be cute, but I know how to beat that any time,' she smiled to herself as she left the quieting bunch to themselves.

**

* * *

**

"Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't." - Erica Jong (submitted by Exmes :)

"God gave women intuition and femininity. Used properly, the combination easily jumbles the brain of any man I've ever met." - Farrah Fawcett

AN: Alright, the second half of this chapter isn't as pointless as it may seem at first. Think about it a while… ;)


	9. Chapter 9

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 9

After getting a mild berating from his elderly cook about "you boys" "roughhousing" that "poor girl" and trying to get her to "catch her death of cold in those drenched clothes," he made it back to his own rooms. He was now the soggiest among the 'boys' since he had allowed the others to towel off ahead of him. This left him with two soggy towels and a very rained-on outlook.

Dorothy was going to pay for this….

He allowed himself a good-natured smirk as he passed her room in the hallway. He couldn't possibly be too mad at her. But he had slowly come to the conclusion that the Lady Catalonia didn't deserve the same benefits that he gave to the more mild mannered ladies he was around.

If she intended to be the playful little water nymph, he'd let her. And if she was so dead set on seeing his "teeth" he may just humor her from time to time. After all, if there was one thing he'd learned during this trip, it was that the former military cadet could obviously take care of herself, and she had no trouble with taking on some aggression.

And if he was secretly very honest, he had little trouble obliging her.

Opening his door at the end of the hallway, he heard another open from behind him. Expecting one of the guys to have finished changing already he turned to inform them that the cook was threatening to force-feed them if they didn't get back to the table in short order. However, it wasn't one of the guys who greeted him.

Dorothy absently slipped out of her room again, not noticing him as she turned the other direction. She was still clad in the beige, linen pants she'd been wearing; apparently the thin material was drying very quickly. She'd changed into the white wrap around shirt that she'd worn yesterday though, and her hair had been wrapped into a huge, messy bun on the back of her head.

Quatre stood in the doorway of his room, simply watching her idly walk down the hallway towards the stairs. With nothing to say to her exactly, he let her slide away, unaware.

There was something about the way she walked.

Quatre would admit, to himself alone, that he had been proud of himself for following through with his little revenge. He had told himself that one more comment, or action, that made her deserve it and she was going in. Well, that comment had been her last.

Picking her up and carrying her to the pool had been the easy part, although he still felt rather violated thanks to her attempt to use his clothing as a hostage. But it was when she called his name that second time, with a note of fear in her voice, that had threatened his control. He was lucky there was enough left of her angry superiority in there too, or he would have failed a second time.

His short-lived victory had hit its peek when she had come back up. Her hair was clumped in a floating tangle all the way around her. He'd immediately felt bad, seeing her soggy expression, but there was that added look of disbelief to her that he couldn't help but rise to the challenge of.

And then she'd managed to kick water in his face anyway, and he'd lost his will to try her any farther.

Any other words would have died on his lips when she slid out of the pool anyway, dripping wet with her clothes literally stuck to her. He was ashamed of it now, but he had the same reaction that they all did to the sight of her.

And they all had that reaction; he could sense it like a solid object being dropped on them.

Abdul and Auda teased him for being the obvious favorite with her after she'd left, considering the amount of effort put into back lashing him with her hair three times. The strange thing was that he was actually proud of that.

It was two-fold and he knew it. First, he was honestly just enticed by her at the moment; the added show of affection pushing up a side of his ego he didn't know he had, and a side that he fought to squash back down now. The second was a revelation that came a bit more slowly as he dwelled on it. Dorothy was back to being… well, Dorothy.

He had honestly been afraid that this situation had changed her, or harmed her, to the point it would force a personality change in her. This evening had proven that wrong. He hadn't been struck enough not to notice that the display was purposeful.

Her walk was different. The sway of her hips was exaggerated… more than usual. Dorothy always had a confident swagger to her gait, but she could pull out slow and seductive in a heartbeat. But just now, when she thought she was alone, that cocky saunter was dimmed, eased, although not lost.

It was possibly one of the best clues to her inner feelings of confidence.

All teasing aside, he honestly hoped that she would bounce back from this. More than any thinly clad, soggy display, he wanted to see that confidence in her again. That teasing, predatory instinct that he'd gotten a prolonged look at this afternoon in her challenge.

He turned into his room and closed the door quietly behind him as she moved out of sight down the stairs. His dear Dorothy may have trouble bringing up her kind side in her everyday dealings, but he was certainly thankful that she didn't turn on him like that very often.

Of course, he felt a little more ready for her now.

* * *

Dorothy sat curled into a chair in the sitting room, a book in her lap. But she couldn't bring herself to actually read it. Instead, she sat listening as Quatre and the others hashed through a few work plans around the table in the corner.

It was a typical demeanor for her, although one that she hadn't used in quite a while now. She would sit in like this on a good number of her grandfather's meetings, silently listening while the men talked through plans, thinking she was off in her own little world with her homework or a book.

This however, was different. This time she wasn't spying for information about the men in the room, or their plans. But also, the group itself was different. Unlike the haughty superiority of Romafeller's elite, this group was friendly and comfortable as they actually talked to each other instead of trying to one-up the rest with pretty speeches.

The group would throw in side stories, or pick on each other, all the while coming back to the actual topic they were supposed to be going over. They were friends…family. And that was not something that she was used to.

The closest she had come to this kind of group was in her own friends. A hodge-podge group of military academy cadets from literally every walk of life. Her soldiers were an unruly mix of the best the school had to offer, their nationally known fencing team hauling them to the forefront of the student prestige.

Andrew, Byron Solvana, and herself were the only Romafeller representatives on the fifteen-man team. Well, fourteen-man, one-woman team. The others had been local boys, most fairly well off financial-wise considering the school's reputation. But there was a handful of "scholarships" included as well, and they tended to be her favorites. Those were the gentlemen of focus and commitment… and the ones with the best tempers.

None of that mattered on the mat, and for the first time in her life, it didn't matter in their circle either. In high school, especially hers, it was competition that would make or break you. And the fifteen of them were more than up for the challenge.

She loved it. Around the guys she wasn't just a pretty piece of decor, she was a real and verifiable person, fighter, threat. None of them took her lightly after their first match against her, and none of them mistook her for being a "princess."

She wasn't exactly one of the guys though. She was persecuted on a daily basis by the entire male student body for the short uniform skirts they were assigned, which she enjoyed and returned, of course. The guys would rile her up with girly remarks whenever they could, and enjoyed trying to tie little ribbons on her jacket before a tournament.

She had even lost a bet once and ended up doing three matches with her hair braided neatly with a pink bow at the end. Her poor competitors that day were the ones that had to pay for it.

But all in all, they were still defensive of her. There were a number of times that they had been her saving grace, both on and off the mats. She was not known for holding her tongue, especially in her younger days, and every now and again her mouth got her in more trouble than it was worth.

A break in the conversation over in the corner caught her attention as the men began laughing over something she'd missed. It must have been good though because Quatre was getting mildly pounded on the back by Abdul, and Rasid was even losing his battle with trying to stay straight-faced.

She lowered her eyes back to her book before they found out she'd taken notice. Yes, these guys were fun, similar but still very different from her group before. They accepted her in much the same way, but she could recognize a far deeper protective side to them. Maybe it was just that they were older. But whatever the reason, they had endeared themselves to her far more than she would have expected.

These guys had no reason to accept her at all. That was probably why she felt more for them. Dorothy had done absolutely everything within her power to prevent this, and she still couldn't shake them. Of course Quatre had a large part to do with that. Apparently they couldn't stay mad at her if he didn't.

She wondered about that from time to time.

However, she did suppose that their endearment of her had come a little later in her life. After all, they seemed to think they owed her for something after their Mars encounter. Which of course they didn't, but she couldn't seem to tell them that.

And she wasn't sure she wanted to anymore. These rough and ready soldiers, with their playful antics, suited her perfectly, making her honestly feel at home. This afternoon she had forgotten every care in her head with them around. And even now as she sat, simply listening to their friendly exchange, she felt warmed to be included by them, even if she was of no real use to their discussion.

Her next fear would be about letting herself get too attached to these guys. Mentally she laughed that off, knowing there was no way to prevent it now.

Again the image of her old group came back, and she silently wondered where they had gone. Two years now…. Three quarters of her team would have graduated. She would have been starting her senior year now with the handful of those she knew, and the new recruits.

Andrew graduated last year. That didn't seem right. In her mind she was supposed to be the only one that changed. Everyone else should have stayed the same, exactly as they were in her memories. A mixed up group of fighters with their only common thread coming from the foil.

…An instrument that still took an effort for her to pick up these days.

They wouldn't even know her now. She'd become restrained and her fighting skills were slowly weakening from the lack of an opponent. She had… gone soft. "General Catalonia" had turned tail and ran away from them. She no longer deserved her rank, which was common for the nicknames around the academy.

Mentally sighing, she realized that Andrew was better off without her.

Again a round of chuckles came from the corner table, and Dorothy couldn't back down the smile. These guys didn't seem to mind if she was a little soft in the middle… they were all a little soft in the head, so she thought they matched.

Besides, they also didn't seem to mind her playful side either… too much. They'd learn.

Quatre was catching on rather quickly. He had honestly surprised her today. Dorothy of course knew his past history, but she also knew his very nature. Quatre Raberba Winner was just honestly a sweet, lovable, nice guy… except when you pushed him too far.

Dorothy wanted to know just how far that was. Quatre was an oddity, someone that she still couldn't quite figure out. He had a kindness and compassion strong enough that he converted it into a protectiveness so fierce that a Gundam wasn't enough to hold him. He was fearless and passionate when he needed to be.

Yes, that was a good word for him. Passionate. If you broke through that tenderhearted kindness, you had to be prepared to face the strength of those deep-seated emotions. Even in a good-natured play-fight, she had gotten just a taste of that… and she had literally begged for more.

Challenging him like that wasn't something that she had felt comfortable with since _Libra_. What had suddenly made her decide to try that, she would never know, but she was sure it had something to do with actually seeing that fire in him.

She would forever be addicted to that feeling in the men around her. The flame of power was a drug just as much as lust and greed were, and she knew them all well. But Quatre was different, very different. All of the Maguanacs were, really. Perhaps it was that family idea again, the protectiveness, instead of personal gain.

Whatever it was, she was finding herself more and more attracted to it. Whether that was a good thing or not, she didn't want to speculate right now. Dorothy just wanted to enjoy it for a night.

"Oh, Lady Dorothy…" Abdul's sing-song call brought her out of her reverie.

She looked up to find the rest of the table snickering and Quatre slumped low in his chair. Oh, this looked positively fun. "Yes?" she answered.

"Nothing!" Quatre called, his back mostly to her as the others cracked up.

"Well, fine," she sniffed. And then she promptly shut her book and added it to the coffee table before she rose and moved towards them.

The laughter only got worse at her approach and she about lost it herself as Quatre groaned and promptly leaned forward to softly hit his head on the table.

"Oh," she purred, hopping up to sit on the table beside him. "Are they picking on you?"

"Yes," came the crestfallen reply.

"Good," she quipped.

He picked his head up just enough to give her an incredulous look as the others started laughing again. "Thanks," he muttered to her, and then promptly lowered his head again.

"We should be turning in, we will have a long day tomorrow," Rasid called it to an end.

The others mumbled about being sent to bed, and Dorothy giggled at them. "Now, now, children, off you go."

"Any chance of being tucked in?" Abdul and Auda just died laughing over that.

She raised an eyebrow at them until she heard Quatre sigh miserably from his position at the table. Ah, yes, the Mars incident. "I suppose that depends on if the hallway wallpaper needs to be checked."

Rasid cleared his throat from the end of the table where he stood to his feet. The other two were still laughing and didn't notice. Quatre mildly raised his head to give her a confused expression. "Wallpaper?"

And the two instigators quickly shut up. Dorothy blinked at him and then turned to look back at them as they sat trying to look innocent… which did not work.

Rasid shook his head and officially decided that he was done with the lot of them. Mumbling something incoherent to himself he turned and walked out of the room.

Quatre helplessly watched him leave and then turned between the other three. "…Wallpaper?" he repeated.

Dorothy put on her best thoughtful expression. "Well, it seems to me that each time before they turn in they check the hallway walls for… what was it again?" she turned to them.

The two gave her a couple rather evil expressions as they specifically stayed quiet.

"When was this?" Quatre asked, still at a loss for what they were talking about.

She blinked down at him. "Oh, that first night on Mars when we got the extra crew settled. The group was checking the hallways for something after I finished patching you up," she happily informed. Glancing back, the looks had only gotten darker.

For a second no one said a word until Quatre slowly eyed all of them. "Really?" he drawled. "Find anything interesting?"

Abdul and Auda exchanged a look before they both looked away. Abdul finally shrugged, "Well maybe." There was the beginning of an evil smile as he comically looked the other way. "Not everyday we get to see the Lady blush," he mumbled before starting to snicker to himself.

Auda groaned and hid his face in his hands. Dorothy, however, was shocked as the two exchanged another look and promptly began cracking up once more.

No way. She hadn't still been—had she? Oh… crud.

"…Really?" came the curious question from beside her.

Dorothy mentally pulled out one of the longest string of curses she'd ever heard and ran them through her head. Turning her eyes slowly back to his side of the table, she looked down to timidly meet Quatre's eyes.

She wished she hadn't. Or she at least wished she would have been nicer to him today. Or that she could shrink and run away. Pretty much anything but try to fend off that look of dark, skeptical curiosity.

Neither paid much attention as Abdul and Auda halted their laughing and began looking back and forth between them. Giving each other a final look, they both bolted upright and headed for the door.

Dorothy heard them throw a "goodnight" over their shoulders as they almost tripped over each other out the door. She snapped back, trying to think up some way to call them back. _No, don't leave me!_ she mentally screamed at them. But they were gone before she could come up with anything.

She felt Quatre shift beside her, and turned back, suspicious of him. He made himself comfortable in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

She cursed herself again. Why today of all days to test out his daring side? She would have normally been able to get away with laughing and brushing it aside. There was nothing in his eyes that stared up at her, waiting for her to continue, that led her to believe she would get away with this.

"So…. You mentioned something last night about that blush not being the first around me. I guess you were right."

She slipped a tiny glance at the door again, at first hopeful that someone would come back, and then again just to judge the distance.

"I apparently missed it though," he mildly continued.

"Apparently," she mused, avoiding looking at him.

"That's too bad. There seems to be a collection of us that got to see it."

"You weren't feeling well," she brushed it off, slipping her feet back to the floor.

"Dorothy…?"

_Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! Um_…. "The guys were worried about you. I'm sure they were just coming to check on you when I left."

"They were trying to spy on us from behind the door," he corrected. "At least, knowing them, that's what I'm assuming."

She sighed, and then mentally smacked herself. Fine. If he wasn't going to drop this, then fine. Looking back at him, she narrowed her eyes. "Well, I guess they missed the show."

He relented slightly at her look. "…I think I missed the show," he half mumbled.

She put up a smirk before closing her eyes. She was going to regret this, she knew she was. "I think I'm a bit heartbroken that I was just part of a drug-induced delusion though."

Silence presented itself to her for a reply, and still she didn't open her eyes to look at him. Instead she reached up to try to pull her hair out of the bun it was in. For some reason, she was feeling very naked right now without it down.

"The delusion is that I don't honestly know what I did and what I didn't," came the soft whisper.

She blinked her eyes open again, noting a very worried tone in his voice that she couldn't ignore. She stopped fiddling with her hair and let it fall in a tangled spiral over her shoulder. Looking down at him, she found Quatre's eyes glued onto a spot on the tabletop, a crease to his brow line as he was obviously trying to remember.

Oh, the poor thing. She felt ashamed of herself for getting into this conversation at all. "Quatre, dear, it's alright. I'm just teasing," she tried.

He didn't really move, the same blank spot holding his attention. "I'm assuming that since you're still talking to me that… that I didn't…." He faltered completely and then raised his elbows to the table and rubbed at his eyes with his hands. "I'm assuming you've forgiven me."

She blinked. Scooting herself back to a full sitting position on the table beside him again she looked down at the top of his head. "Darling… what exactly do you think you did that you feel you need to be forgiven for?" she was confused. It was a kiss! …A very nice kiss, but it was still just a kiss. How could she possibly be upset by it?

"I don't know," came the weak reply. "I just really feel like I did something wrong," he admitted.

He really didn't remember. Well, she hadn't actually figured that he would, he was half asleep anyway. Dorothy finally just chuckled, the whole situation coming as laughable by this point. "Dear, you didn't do anything wrong." Why were they both being this paranoid anyway?

"I…" he sighed, "kissed you, didn't I?"

She shrugged to herself, holding back from calling up that image in her mind. "Yes." She watched his shoulders slump farther and she silently felt a little… unwanted. Well, that was probably a good thing, she reasoned. "Well, I sort of started it," she brushed it off.

"You'll forgive me?" he timidly asked, still not raising his head.

For what? She liked that memory…. The evil smile worked its way up and she wasn't about to stop it. "Absolutely not."

She watched him start. Dorothy crossed her legs towards him and then leaned over on an arm to come as close as she could in front of him. Quatre very timidly raised his eyes to meet hers, worry etched in them.

She backed down her expression, his look chasing out some of the less noble side of her. "Why would I want to forgive you for that?" she teased softly. Giving him a smile, she fluttered her eyes closed again. "You do have the distinction of being the only man to make me blush."

She peeked her eyes back open to watch him look away and sigh in defeat. "Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"Am I that bad?" she pouted.

He snapped back up to look at her, "No! I mean—" He let out a frustrated groan and dropped his head back to the table. She laughed at him and began sympathetically patting his back. "I just don't want to have done something inappropriate that you've been mad at me for."

As soon as Dorothy deciphered that muffled reply into a coherent sentence, she shook her head. "Even if you weren't drugged out of your senses at the time, how could I possibly be mad at you? Besides, if I was all aghast and appalled, wouldn't you think I'd have mentioned something by now?"

"Dorothy," he finally picked his head back up to look at her. "I have yet to ever figure out what you're thinking or what something means to you. Why would this be any different?"

Her gentle patting stopped and she slapped his shoulder instead. "I didn't bring it up because you were obviously not in your right mind… after I figured that out, of course," she muttered.

"You're still bitter that I didn't tell you about them trying to drug me, aren't you?"

"I don't recall anything about them 'trying' to drug you. And yes, I am." She watched him cringe and look away again. "That part I have to forgive you for. Kissing me I don't."

He cringed again. "How does that make sense?"

"You endangered yourself by not telling at least someone what had happened to you." She smiled, "I promise that kissing me will never be bad for your health."

"I don't know… you can be vicious when you want to be," he mumbled, pointedly not looking at her.

"Oh, I never presumed to say that anyone could get away with that."

He finally broke a single chuckle before propping his head up with a hand. "Does that make me mildly special?"

She blinked at his melancholy expression. "You've had my entire life spilled out in front of you in the last two days, and you still have to ask something like that?" Her voice softened, even though she hadn't exactly meant it to. It was always her telltale sign and she needed to work on it.

That got the best reaction out of him yet. He turned to look up at her, his eyes searching hers. She didn't mind. All fears aside, Quatre deserved to know that he was important to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She gave him a weary look and rolled her eyes. Undaunted he continued, "Dorothy, honestly, I don't mean to make light of your trust in me. I hope you know that." He found one of her hands and held it between his, focusing on them. "Actually I'm flattered that you came to me at all," he tried to chuckle.

But there was something deeper than that, something that she felt he was struggling with, but she had no idea what it was. And, what did she say to something like that? "Quatre?" He blinked, looking up at her again. No matter what, it was that gentle character of his that always got to her somehow. "I don't think it's a cause for flattery that someone trusts you. But just the same, I do."

He favored her with a smile. "Lady Dorothy, I take it as a personal compliment that you trust me."

"Master Winner, if every insane woman you know comes to cry on your shoulder, you need to move and not leave a forwarding address," she gave him a maternal look.

"I'll remember that," he chuckled. "But do I still get my standing invitation that you'd make time for me if I need to return the favor?"

She laughed at the tease, finding it impossible not to. "Any time at all, dearest," she promised. Sliding a bit forward, she lowered her face to meet his eyes a moment. "I would be honored."

"I don't think that's a cause to feel honored for," he mimicked back.

She scowled a moment. "You know, I think I like you better when you're just being sweet and innocent."

Quatre's expression dropped to give her an annoyed look. "There's still a pool I can throw you in," he muttered.

She laughed out loud at the threat. "You have officially been around me too long."

"Yes, actually, I have." He pushed himself up from the chair. "I said something like that to Trowa when he called right before I came down for dinner. …I think he's worried about me again," he added vaguely before chuckling to himself.

Her laugh died down at the comment, and she slowly felt her heart harden in her chest. Quatre, oblivious, turned away and pushed his chair into the table. "How is Mr. Barton these days?" she asked, hoping she sounded casual.

"Good. Really good," he answered with a smile as he picked up the data pad and set of papers from the table. "They're going to be in L4 for the next few months, and just a couple colonies away this weekend. Makes it easy to pay them a visit."

"Still with the circus then?" she asked, attempting to comb through the tangled mess of her hair with her fingers for something to do.

"Of course," came the chuckle. "He wouldn't dare try to leave now. Catherine would use him for a pin cushion."

"Catherine?" she blinked.

He circled the table, placing everything back in order before coming up in front of her. "His sister, sort of…" he paused. "You would have never met her, would you?"

Dorothy gave him a confused expression. "Sister? I didn't know he had a family." Nothing in any of OZ's information on him even hinted at a background, let alone a family.

He quickly shook his head. "Sorry, I'm confusing you. Trowa's only family is the circus now," he explained. "Catherine was the first to really… take him in, I guess you'd say. She refers to him as her brother, teasingly. They really have quite a… sibling relationship."

She blinked up at him, his eyes telling more than his words were. There was a lengthy story in there somewhere, but obviously Quatre was rather fond of both of them. But Dorothy quietly scrutinized his words. A sister…. Then perhaps that was what he had meant when he told her on _Libra_ that he had a place to go home to….

"Dorothy?" She looked up again, not realizing that she'd turned away from him. "What is it?" he asked, worry slipping into his expression.

"Nothing," she brushed it off. "Just lost in thought."

He gave her a curious look, but then softened. "You've never seen him since then, have you?"

Dang it, how did he always know where her mind was going? Sighing lightly she shook her head, "No, I haven't."

Setting the pile of things down beside her on the table again, he moved in a bit closer to her. "He always asks how you're doing," he quietly related.

"Really?" That seemed odd. "Why?"

He gave her a slightly confused expression before tucking his hands in his pockets. "Well… I imagine, because he wants to know how you're doing."

The comically incorrigible reply only stilled her a little farther. "Stupid question," she mumbled.

"Dorothy… whether you've seen him or not, Trowa's kept track of you too."

She cringed in spite of herself. "In case I decide to take another chunk out of you?" It wasn't a bitter, or accusatory, statement… it was honest. Dorothy never joked about what happened between the two of them, she made it a point to never bring it up unless forced to.

"What? No," his shock was evident although she couldn't look at him. "Dorothy?"

She closed her eyes, feeling absolutely stupid for this. "I'm sorry. I hope he doesn't believe that of me."

"Of course not."

Well, she knew he was absolutely assured of that statement. She wasn't though. The tiny glimpse that she'd gotten of the two of them together was enough to make her well aware that they were close. They understood each other easily. "Sometimes… it's harder to forgive what happened to someone you care about, than something that happened to you."

She owed her life to both of them. But she had always felt that she could approach Quatre. Granted, it had taken her months to find a sufficient excuse, but that was far more than she had done with Trowa. She had much more to ask for forgiveness for with Quatre.

"He never held anything against you." Dorothy felt Quatre lean in towards her. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense his hands on either side of her on the table, leaning him over her. "Neither of us ever did," he whispered.

How did she tell him that that didn't make her feel any better? Flashes of their hopeless duel and his words to her came back unbidden. Trowa's words while she sat, defeated and worthlessly still alive, also came back. How could these two men honestly forgive her for her part in their pain and struggles?

"We all did things in the war that we will always be ashamed of. We're no different than you."

"Of course you are," she whispered, the absurdity of it forcing words out of her if nothing else. "You tried to help me. I tried to kill you." There was a pause but she still couldn't bring herself to open her eyes and look at him.

"Did you?"

Alright, that got them open at least, even if she didn't look up at him. "What?"

He slowly moved away from her, and she finally looked up to follow him as he pulled out the chair again and sat down. "I was completely unarmed, immobile, and you had the element of surprise in your attack. And yet you gave me a non-lethal injury that did no real internal damage. You could have stabbed me through the heart and it would have been done with."

The violent shudder that ran through her body would not be suppressed.

"Aside from that, if you'd simply wanted me dead, you would have just shot me when you first disarmed me as I entered. You weren't simply defending your position. You wanted a battle. …And I don't think you wanted to succeed."

She turned away before she had to meet his eyes. Forcefully swallowing, she trying to keep her breathing down.

"You… never intended to leave that ship, did you?"

She tried to open her mouth to say no, but when she did her jaw trembled, and she simply shook her head instead.

"You wanted an opponent that would kill you."

She tightly closed her eyes again, forcing out two hot tears as she tried for all she was worth not to relive those moments.

"Whether it was conscious or not… you simply didn't want me dead, or I would be."

She made herself take deep breaths, trying to back down the flood of images of everything that led her to her decision to join the ill-fated battleship _Libra_. She knew it was her death and she didn't care. She wanted a front row seat, and she wanted an end fitting for her life. And if her own drive to see the war through to the end made a final blow in the passion for it, then she would feel that she accomplished something.

"I knew then and there that you didn't want to outlive the war. And I couldn't possibly have hurt you. …And I know that Trowa saw it in you too. We've all found our lives to be cheap at some point."

Again she felt him shift as he stood up, and then she felt his hands at her sides. Gently he tugged at her, wanting her to move. Unable to refuse him, she slid off the table and into his arms. She claimed a hold around his shoulders and buried her face against him as his arms slipped tightly around her.

There, in that protective embrace, it was even harder to hold back her tears. _Trowa would be proud of me_, she mentally quipped with herself. "All I've done on this trip is cry on you," she mumbled.

There was a quiet chuckle from him. "That's not true. You managed to throw me in the pool too."

Even as she felt two more tears slip out of her grasp, she laughed. "Yeah, I can see why you're so thrilled that I'm still around," she teased.

His arms tightened to the constricting point and he softly nuzzled into her neck. "I hope you do," he whispered. "Because I don't know what I would do without you."

The feeling sent a shiver down her spine, which seemingly prompted him to move her hair aside and gently rub her back with one hand. She wanted to tell him that his statement didn't make sense, that it was backwards. But nothing came out, and her body failed her as she tightly clung to his neck.

Her tears easily subsided, but she didn't want to let him go. And he didn't seem to mind. He stopped his gentle rubbing and slipped his arm back around her again. She still felt as though there was something far deeper going on with him than she understood, but she couldn't place why.

Instead, she felt her emotions curl into him as well. And somehow she began to realize just how far her trust in him went. How this former adversary had turned her so completely around, she didn't know, but she loved him for it. Dorothy smiled as she felt his face shift softly against her jaw and neck.

She'd never understand him, and she knew it. …And she didn't mind. "Quatre?"

"Hum?" he mumbled, not moving.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he moved softly to meet his cheek with hers.

"For everything." She realized that was far too clichéd. "For saving my life… and my sanity basically." Both of them chuckled lightly. "And for forgiving me. For trusting me." Dorothy faltered a moment as his arms slipped to a gentle hug. He deserved to know. "You've been better to me than most anyone else in my life," she whispered.

It was sort of frightening that she meant that.

He must have felt it as well. Quatre moved back just enough to lightly displace her hold on him. They backed away enough to look at each other although she still didn't bring herself to raise her eyes to him.

"I want to be."

That was an odd thing to say. She finally found enough courage from his soft statement to curiously meet his eyes. And when she did, she didn't know what she was so nervous of. The sincerity written in him was transparent to an even deeper level of concern for her.

"Honestly," he whispered, searching her eyes. "I want to be someone you can count on."

She let the smile tug at her lips. Internally she wondered why he would want such a thing… especially when he already had it.

Quatre closed his eyes a moment, obviously debating something. "Dorothy, I know that your past has all come back at once on you lately," he said softly before once again finding her eyes. "But…" he faltered before shaking his head and starting over. "Lady Catalonia… would you like to accompany me to the circus?"

She didn't mean to, but she laughed at him. The formal invitation was heartfelt, she was sure of it. It was his way of trying to help her with her past, and she knew that too. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear her head enough to give him an answer. In all honesty, she wondered how she'd avoided Trowa for this long… maybe it was time she started putting her past back in its proper place.

There was no expectation to him as he loosely held her there, but she was sure that inside he was hoping for a yes. Well, who was she to argue with him? "I think I'd like that, Mr. Winner."

He gave her a smile and nodded, and she slipped back in to hug him once more.

"Thank you." She meant it, and she would have preferred to say it with a little more than a hug, but with all the talk about their kiss, she didn't figure she should chance it. Besides, she honestly felt she needed to watch that better these days.

Although, as she backed away again and finally let go, she was disappointed with her decision. Well, that made two nights in a row.

"So, does that mean that I get to keep you until the weekend, or do I need to reschedule?" he went back to their playful formality.

Smiling she shook her head. "Well, I'm already here," she mumbled. Looking down at herself she shrugged though. "But you realize that I packed for one day. I'm going to have to go shopping tomorrow."

He chuckled at her and then picked up the stack of items that he'd forsaken earlier. "I'm sure you won't be heartbroken about that."

"Never." She ran a hand through a strand of her hair for emphasis until her fingers got caught halfway down. "Ow," she mumbled to herself, holding up the knot to inspect it. Frowning at the mess she noted Quatre cringe beside her. She smirked to herself as she picked at separating the strands. "You're just dying to apologize aren't you?"

"…No," he tried.

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Liar."

He sheepishly looked away from her. "That's going hurt isn't it?"

She shrugged and went back to scrutinizing the knot, which was one of several she was noting. "Nothing some time with my conditioner bottle and a comb won't fix."

"Good."

He was almost to the point of cracking. But her sweet Quatre had probably had enough of her teasing for one night, considering the amount of emotions she'd just poured on the dear man. Maybe he deserved her to back down first. "I'm sorry. I should have been more restrained today," she said simply, not raising her eyes from her hair.

There was a disbelieving pause, but she tried not to laugh at it. "Well… I'm sorry that I… tangled your hair."

That she did laugh at. She eyed him wearily. "You honestly have been around me too much."

He sighed to himself and nodded. "Yeah, I know." Picking up his items he walked around her towards the door. She giggled at him and turned to follow until he paused and looked back to her. "Did I pass?" he asked curiously.

Dorothy blinked. "Pass what?"

He scrutinized her a moment. "You were testing me with that this afternoon. Did I pass?"

She paused, thinking that through. "It wasn't a pass or fail kind of thing." He didn't take that for an answer though and she had to fight to explain herself. "I just… wanted to see what you'd do."

"You knew I wouldn't."

She shrugged mildly, "You surprised me though. And I'm sure that if I weren't a woman, I would have gone in much sooner." She chuckled, "You didn't have any reservations about tossing in the other two."

He gave her a conceding expression on that but shook his head. "They deserved it. And so did you after a point… but it really had nothing to do with you being a woman when it came down to it."

"What do you mean?" She slipped up next to him again.

He looked away with memory for a moment. "You told me to drop you."

"Yes," she pried.

Finding her eyes again he looked at her a moment. "I can't do that."

She gave him a confused look. "But you can toss me over your shoulder and fling me in screaming for mercy?"

"If you screamed for mercy I wouldn't have," he mumbled, but shook it off. "It wasn't the same. I just… I don't ever want to feel like I dropped you," he confided, his eyes lowered to the side.

Again, she felt something nag at her about him. "You wouldn't," she stated, before tenderly reaching up to brush his bangs back as she stepped into his side. "Dear, are you all right?"

He found her eyes again, a soft smile to them. "I'm fine. You're the one that I'm worried about."

She sighed to herself, feeling for the hundredth time that she should be ashamed of piling this on him. "Quatre, I may be a mess, but that's nothing new," she winked.

* * *

"We seek the comfort of another. Someone to share and share the life we choose. Someone to help us through the never-ending attempt to understand ourselves. And in the end, someone to comfort us along the way." - Marlin Finch Lupus

AN: For all of you dear readers who have been wondering if our beloved Trowa was going to ever get a "speaking" role in one of my stories… well, what's a Quatre fic without him? Yip, that's right, up next I'm going to try my hand with Trowa Barton….

Edited by: Spiked Jin


	10. Chapter 10

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 10

"Hello dear, how's work?"

"I could get used to this," Quatre mildly smiled as Dorothy let herself into his office. He finished up the message he was sending before looking up to see her perch herself on the front corner of his desk. "You're going to spoil me."

"I seriously doubt that," she replied.

Shaking his head he went back to the proposal in front of him. "I should be ready in a few minutes."

"Take your time," she waved it off.

"I figured we may want to grab something quick for dinner before we catch our flight," he mumbled as he keyed in the points of the letter he'd highlighted. "Otherwise, Catherine is going to try to feed us."

He vaguely noted her slip off the desk and wander around his office. "Is that a bad thing?"

Quatre chuckled lightly to himself. "Sort of. Catherine's a sweetheart, she really is. But she grew up cooking for a small army and she's very good at it," he sighed.

Dorothy giggled at the comment. "She sounds fun."

"I'm sure you two will hit it off." Rethinking that, he paused his work. "Actually, I'm sort of afraid of putting the two of you in the same room."

"Why's that?"

Glancing up, he met her eyes thoughtfully. "You both tend to be a little… headstrong."

"Ah. Thank you." She gave him a tiny curtsey before turning away again.

He rolled his eyes and went back to work. Dorothy roamed his office as she usually did, though he didn't have any idea why. He'd given up trying to keep her busy with something during the few visits she'd paid him here during the week. Now he tended to just let her go.

Finishing his notes, Quatre sent them off to one of his vice presidents, and set a reminder to check up on it Monday. He was about to suggest that they go when his intercom beeped and his receptionist's voice came over the line. "Mr. Winner, there is a Miss Jesimae Nickels at the front desk asking to see you, if you're available."

He blinked down at his phone for a second, before exchanging a look with Dorothy who gave him a curious expression. He shrugged and switched his intercom on. "She's at the front desk?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir."

Looking back up, Dorothy nodded for him to go on and he reluctantly decided that since she'd come all the way here, it wouldn't be proper to send her away. "Please ask the front desk to escort her up then."

"Yes, Sir," was the reply.

"That's strange," he commented to himself.

The giggle was one he knew all too well. Dorothy sauntered back over and took another irregular seat on his desk. "Well now, rather bold of the woman."

He gave her a warning look. "I'm sure she just wants to see if I've gotten all the specifics on their contract."

She narrowed her eyes with a smirk. "Really? Would you like to know what I'm sure of?"

"No," he answered.

Ignoring him, she patted a finger to her chin in mock-thought. "I'm sure that a woman who happens to drop by just before closing time on a Friday afternoon is going to invite you out for dinner."

He quietly sighed at her. "Not all women are you, Dorothy."

"You're right." She turned back to him, "I at least call first."

"From the lobby," he muttered.

"Yes, well," she shrugged. Rising again she paced around his desk to him. "I'll just go wait in the break room."

"Are you sure?" he asked, not meaning to send her away.

"Of course." She placed both hands on his shoulders as she slipped behind him. "I'll let you two chat amongst yourselves."

He growled in frustration at her. "Why do you have this idea that there's something going on between us? I met her Monday."

"Well, let's see," she cooed, slipping away to his other side. "She's a Colonist, she's influential, has a position in a supply company to you, and has a wonderful family line." She turned back over her shoulder with a smirk. "She's even cute… and blond."

He rolled his eyes. "I hate to break this to you, but I honestly don't have a thing for blonds."

She pouted at him. "Oh, Quatre, don't ruin my fantasies. Besides," she leaned in to whisper, "she's not real anyway." Winking, she slipped away towards the door, leaving him to laugh at her back.

"I didn't realize you were the jealous type, Miss Dorothy," he called after her.

"We'll see," she tossed back as she slipped out the door, leaving him alone to wait.

_And I was worried she was going to quit that_, he thought to himself. It didn't stop the smile from tugging at his lips though.

Dorothy had bounced back better than he would have ever imagined someone could during the past week. Every now and again he would catch a faraway look to her eyes though, and he knew that it would take a long time to heal completely. But at least she seemed to be able to stop blaming herself for what happened with Mr. Varnhem.

In the meantime, he had become very accustomed to Dorothy's presence. It had been a long time since the two had had an extended stay together, and with it being in his home this time, it was rather fun. The idea of watching her board a flight back to Earth in a couple days wasn't all that appealing.

He didn't get the chance to feel sorry for himself longer than that as his receptionist knocked lightly on the open door and ushered in Miss Jesimae. Rising to his feet, he thanked his receptionist and motioned the younger of the women into his office.

Jesimae Nickels was probably two years older than him, an inch shorter, and very slender. She also had a smile wider than he had ever seen, and two perfect rows of white teeth. Not to mention a pair of full red lips to surround them. She was a dark blond with a reddish cast to it, and whether she actually bleached it or not, Quatre certainly couldn't tell.

He met her and shook her hand, motioning her to take a seat opposite his desk. "Miss Jesimae, what brings you here today?"

She tossed a ringlet of her waist-length hair back over her shoulder, having the rest gathered into a thick ponytail behind her. "Well, I was on colony and I thought I would see if you had a chance to look over the contract proposal. Not meaning to rush you, of course," she added.

"I have," he confirmed. "Unfortunately I have a few other people I would like to bring in on this too, and they have been unavailable. I appreciate you taking the time out to check though."

"Not at all," she waved it off, her pale green eyes catching his. "Like I said, I was already here. Is there anything else that you needed from us? I know father tends to overlook some of the finer details sometimes. That's what he has me for," she smiled.

Quatre nodded, believing her after having met the man. He was not one for detail work, he was sure. "No, everything seemed to be in order. I appreciate you being a liaison for us," he tried.

She laughed at the comment and nodded. "Well good, I'm happy to hear that. I don't need to take up any more of your time then, I'll be on my way."

_See, Dorothy_, he mentally chuckled. "Thank you for stopping by."

She rose to her feet again and he did as well, the green pantsuit she wore accentuating her eyes as she smiled once more. "This might be a bit last-minute, but if you don't have dinner plans this evening, my flight out isn't until later. I could repay you for treating my father and I the other night."

How…? "I'm sorry, Miss Jesimae. I have a flight myself this evening that I should be headed out for. Thank you though. Maybe another time," he smiled.

"Of course," she brushed it off. "Good day then, Mr. Winner, and have a safe trip," she extended a hand over his desk and he lightly shook it before she turned and let herself out, the tail of curls following her.

She was out the door and around the corner before he sighed to himself. "How does she always know these things?" he half whispered under his breath.

He turned off his computer and finally left his office. Saying goodnight to his secretaries, they all wished him a safe trip and he automatically wondered how they all knew he was going somewhere. Though it didn't take long to come up with a suspect.

He exited his office suite and turned towards the break room, finding Dorothy at one of the central tables. She tiredly leafed through one of the various magazines that always found their way in here. Odd how many people were interested in coffee at a quarter to five in the afternoon….

She gave him a smile when he entered and he ushered her out with an, "Are you ready?"

She nodded back and slipped her arm through his in the hallway outside. Leaning in when they were a little ways away, she whispered, "I think the chubby bald one has a crush on me."

* * *

"So… did she ask?" Dorothy finally couldn't take it. She had to have or Quatre would have gloated by now.

"Who, what?" he asked, blinking up from the newspaper in his lap.

"Did Miss Nickels ask you out for dinner," she clarified, curiously eying him.

He visually slumped and turned back to his paper. "Yes."

Dorothy giggled in triumph. "I knew it."

Quatre shook his head and then folded his paper back up and turned to look at her. "How did you know?"

The flight to one of the neighboring colonies was only a thirty minute jaunt once you got through ticketing, but she figured this could be a nice pastime. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, Mr. Winner, but you have become a rather eligible bachelor."

He blinked at her, apparently waiting for her to continue.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty much it."

He gave her an incredulous look. "How does that explain anything?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Sweet, naïve, Quatre," she mumbled.

"I wish you would stop saying that."

She ignored the grumble. "She's a woman of good standing who happens to have a very nice mark set out for herself. Don't be so staunch with her," she nudged.

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do I have to spell this out?"

"Yes."

She sighed heavily. "Take a good estimate of how many women are on this plane."

He rolled his eyes, but then did a quick look. "…Twenty," he guessed.

"Now, suppose we took these twenty women and did a survey about what they looked for in a man. Do you think that cute, rich and successful would appear anywhere on there?"

"What does this have to do with dinner?" he asked instead.

She gave him a dumb look. "Well what do you want the woman to do, propose?"

He gave her a look of total abandon. "What?"

Dorothy chuckled to herself, having too much fun with this. "You honestly haven't figured out that the female population has found you yet, have you?"

"No," he stated stubbornly.

"My, you're going to have a rude awakening," she shook her head.

He snapped his paper back open and specifically ignored her. Dorothy simply laughed at him.

Turning she looked out the window beside her, stars twinkling un-obscured back to her, along with the marking lights of a couple of close colonies. Again the nagging butterflies filed back into her stomach even though she hated to admit it.

Trowa Barton. What in the world was she going to say to him?

In three days she had come close to telling Quatre that she had changed her mind approximately fifteen times. But each time, something always got in her way. And, truth be told, the fact that he was going with her was a major help to her nerves. She wasn't sure she could just randomly pop back in front of him again without a hand to hold her through it.

It was dumb. He was just a single man. Someone she'd known for all of exactly five minutes of her life. …And someone who had taken enough interest in her to help get her to stand up and get off that dying ship.

She felt a hand gently touch hers in her lap and snapped back to find Quatre looking at her questioningly. Looking down, she realized she'd been absently picking at her nails like she usually did when she was nervous. She bit back a sigh in irritation, but looked back up to give him a smile.

"You all right?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she reassured.

"Nervous." It didn't sound like a question, and she was mildly resentful that he said it.

How did he always know these things? She gave him a mild cringe, "Oh, you should have seen me before I finally got the guts to come see you the first time." She laughed at herself, but she didn't feel like it.

He raised her hand and gave a soft kiss to the back of it. "It's alright, I promise."

He really was a sweetheart, she decided. "I know. I'm just being silly. Don't worry about me."

Quatre chuckled before turning back to his paper, not really releasing her hand. "I worry about you for a lot more than this."

* * *

"Well, they're never hard to spot, now are they?" Dorothy asked as he helped her out of the taxi in front of a group of circus tents.

"Not at all," he agreed, collecting their bags.

"Quatre!"

He turned back around, knowing that voice instantly. Sure enough, Catherine was running from one of the tents towards them, her short chestnut hair bouncing after her.

Catherine Bloom hadn't exactly started out as a great admirer of his. But once she figured out that his visits after the war hadn't been to drag her beloved Trowa out into the battlefield again, she'd opened up to him. He was almost convinced that she'd adopted him as well by now too.

He flashed a smile to her as she sprinted to the street to meet them. Clad in an impossibly short pair of cutoffs and a spaghetti-strapped corset top she seemed the same as always. He stepped up a few paces, ready to catch her when she launched herself into him. Quatre still staggered a bit as she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a quick, forceful hug.

Stepping back quickly, she grinned at him. "It's been a while," she accused.

He nodded in agreement, but then turned back to Dorothy, who held a rather humored smirk on her face. Ignoring it, he extended a hand to her. "Catherine, this is the Lady Dorothy Catalonia."

"Ooh, a real blue-blood," she gushed. Turning back to look at him she gave him a wink and a quick poke to the ribs. "I should have expected," she teased. He didn't have the chance to refute that before she whipped back around to shake Dorothy's hand. "So nice to have you."

Dorothy smiled brightly at her, chuckling to herself. "Nice of you to have me, Miss Bloom."

"Oh, Catherine, please. You make me sound stuffy," she commented.

Well, she always did come on strong, he mused.

Just as quickly, she started picking up bags and tossed a couple over her shoulder. "Trowa's in the main tent with the animals. I'll show Dorothy here around," she stated, hoisting all four of their bags and still managing to snag one of Dorothy's hands as she set off for the backside of the set up.

"Uh…" he tried to articulate something as Dorothy followed helplessly along, obviously surprised. "But…."

"Don't worry, we'll come find you guys," Catherine tossed back at him.

He looked after them hopelessly until Dorothy shook it off and flashed a smile back to him as she was led along. "I'm fine, Darling, go on," she shooed.

Quatre finally threw his hands up and set off for the main tent. There was only one person who could calm Catherine when she was on one of her sugar-high-type escapades….

* * *

After a half an hour of being jostled from one section of the expansive circus grounds to another, Dorothy's arm was about pulled out of its socket, but she couldn't get the smile off her face. Catherine Bloom was nothing like what she expected, even after Quatre's subtle hints during the past few days about her being very outgoing.

She hated to tell him that that description didn't even begin to cover it.

Catherine chatted easily with her, obviously being a wonderful tease, which already gave her high marks in Dorothy's mind. She comically introduced her to various people around the area, even though Dorothy never managed to stay with them long enough to begin to remember them. She hoped they didn't mind.

They rounded the area in the fastest tour on record. All the while she was attempting to answer the multitude of questions that Catherine was bombarding her with. Where was she from? How did she meet Quatre? Did she really know Miss Relena? How long were they staying? What kind of conditioner did she use? And so on and so forth.

This woman was honestly a lot of fun.

They had made it back to the main tent, which was really about all Dorothy had managed to get out of the tour. Being pulled inside, she let the older woman drag her around a mess of equipment and scaffolding. "Don't mind us, we're still setting up here," she explained. "The guys should be this way."

Dorothy had figured out that she didn't actually have to respond to all of Catherine's bubbly conversation, and she probably shouldn't try to. Keeping up was more than enough work right about now.

"Catherine!" Both women turned to look up at the heights of the scaffolding as a man stood at the edge, yelling down to her. "We need some help, get up here!"

"Oh," she mildly whined. But cupping her hands around her mouth she yelled back up, "Yes, Ring Master!" Taking Dorothy's hand again, she started off for a collection of cages and rows of platform looking things. "We'll find the guys for you first though," she winked back at her.

It didn't take much. The two former pilots were at the end of the row of cages and Catherine nodded to herself. "There you are. I'll see you after a bit."

Dorothy gave her a smile, "Thank you."

The taller girl laughed before taking off at a run back for the tower of pipes and boards. Dorothy watched her a moment as she hoisted herself up onto the rungs of the scaffold and began easily hopping her way up towards the top.

Wow. She blinked back the surprise at the easy grace of the performer and sauntered off down the rows of animals. A small village of rabbits turned to watch her as she wandered past. They were neatly stacked next to cages of birds, from small to large, which seemed to eye her curiously. "No, I don't actually belong here," she whispered back to them. "Just here to visit," she cooed to one particularly pretty bird in a cage by itself.

Turning back to the pathway, she laced her hands behind her back before she got herself into trouble by trying to pet one of them. She had no idea what sort of training these fuzzy critters had or if they would be inclined to liking an outsider.

Her amused little stroll was quickly brought to an end as she found the objects of her search again. Quatre had spotted her and was calmly leaned against a large cage's corner, waiting for her. Trowa was bent down on one knee in front of the cage, working with something, with his back to her. _Well now, be casual_, she mentally added to herself.

That died the second a massive furry head came up over Trowa's from inside the cage, and focused its golden eyes directly at her. One huge lion stood to full height, baring his teeth before a loud menacing growl cleared its throat.

And Dorothy froze in spite of herself.

Apparently unfazed, Trowa turned enough to look back at her. Dorothy gave them a nervous laugh, "Nice kitty."

Quatre mildly chuckled at her, and Trowa's expression softened out to what she may be inclined to figure is what he passed for a smile. Well, that was better than calling out the lion on her, she decided.

He stood to his feet as well, ignoring the giant cat, which was very quietly pacing a few steps back and forth in the cage, his gaze never leaving her. "Miss Catalonia," he nodded.

She attempted to ignore the feline in order to concentrate on the more dangerous individuals in the area. "Mr. Barton," she answered back, testing the waters enough to continue her pace towards them.

That may have been the wrong thing to do as another growl cleared the beast's throat. Pausing again, she tried to give the lion an apologetic look. "Sorry, must have caught you at a bad time," she blinked.

"He likes to have that effect on people," Quatre murmured, remembering a similar reaction on one of his first visits here.

"He needs an introduction," Trowa offered, before waving a hand and taking the lion's attention back. Meeting the beast's eyes, he gently hushed him, his voice soothing. "Calm down. She's a friend. Sit."

It still amazed Quatre that this giant cat actually obeyed things like that. But on cue, he sat back on his hind legs, watching his trainer intently. Trowa gave him another minute and then hushed him again before reaching back through the bars and scratching the feline's mane. The over-grown kitty closed his eyes against the rub and leaned into the touch.

Dorothy had been brave enough to pace up a little closer to them, but kept her distance, apparently hoping not to rouse him again. But Trowa calmly turned back to her, and reached a hand out towards her to take, his other still scratching his pet.

Both of them blinked at the move before Quatre noted the smile in his friend's eyes. "There's only one way he'll get to know you," he stated quietly, still waiting for her to take his hand.

Quatre turned back to watch her surprised eyes blink at him again. She tried to open her mouth to say something but then closed it again. He was sure that Dorothy would have as many problems saying no to Trowa's silent persistence as anyone.

She cast him a quick glance, but turned back to the taller pilot before Quatre had the chance to prod her into agreeing. Instead she gave a what-the-heck shrug and stepped up a few more feet and very gently took the offered hand, focusing back on the giant cat that had turned to regard her again.

"It's alright," Trowa soothed, although Quatre wasn't sure which one of them he was talking to. "He can tell if you're nervous," he advised, still not bringing her any farther forward. "It makes him nervous."

"Well, we have something in common already," she mumbled, still staring at the cat who stared back at her.

Quatre cautiously watched the two outside of the cage instead. Trowa had exactly two sides, poetically subtle, or cuttingly blunt. However, he also tended to take a much more gentle touch with women. And Quatre was absolutely sure that he would be with Dorothy especially.

Trowa's eyes never moved from Dorothy's face as she calmly, but wearily, eyed the cat in front of her, her hand barely brushing his open palm. Trowa didn't believe it was just the lion that was mildly intimidating her, which he found odd.

Instead, when he was sure she wouldn't draw back, he wrapped his hand around hers, taking a strong hold on her. He tugged at her gently, prodding her forward a little more. She glanced up at him, surprise still evident in her gray-violet eyes. He hadn't noticed what color they were on _Libra_. But just as quickly she returned to hold the stare of the animal in front of them, and followed his lead with a couple short steps.

The lion hunched down a little, lowering his head to stare up at her, readying in case he needed to spring. Trowa turned back to him and waved a hand in front of his eyes, gaining his attention back. Pulling Dorothy at the same time, he moved her up closer to him, holding the lion's vision. "It's alright," he said again. "Just someone new."

The cat relaxed again, and he held Dorothy just where she was as he once again reached out and rubbed behind the animal's ear. Playing on the cat's trust, he kept him occupied as he turned back to Dorothy. She must have obviously decided that he wasn't as bad as he first appeared to be, because she had relaxed as well.

Trowa regarded her a moment before he pulled her forward once again. There was no hesitation to her this time as she came directly up to the cage, gazing down at her opponent. The animal turned into his petting again, and he took the chance. Stepping in to Dorothy he brought her hand up and extended it with his through the bars.

That got another mild hesitation though, but he expected that. "Don't move," he whispered calmly, close to her ear as her arm was extended over the lion's head. Slowly he released her hand and slipped away, watching her without blinking for any signs of panic.

As expected, there were none, but she was nervous on her own. Trowa was quite amused when her free hand reached out and grabbed a hold of Quatre's on the other side of her.

Interesting.

Turning back to the lion, he gave him a good rub until the giant car purred in his low growl, contentedly looking up at them. "Good boy," he soothed. He paused and then softly reached up and lightly guided Dorothy's hand down to the top of his head, keeping on top of her fingers this time.

She let him lead her as he moved her hand against the fur of his mane, giving her a guide on how to pet him. The lion moved into their touch, wanting some more attention, and not caring by whom at this point. Dorothy caught on quickly, mildly scratching at the wooly thick of hair, until Trowa backed his hand away from hers.

"He's not that bad when you get to know him," he commented.

"Just a giant kitten, aren't you?" she cooed. Getting a little steadier she leaned down lower, rubbing him easily.

Trowa stepped back away from her to a more casual distance, watching Dorothy's profile as she moved her hand behind his ear. The lion chose this time to flop down to lie at the bottom of the cage. Dorothy blinked in abandon at the creature.

"Well, does that mean you're done with me?" she gave him a haughty snort.

Trowa figured that that did seem appropriate for someone like her. "It means he's lazy," he corrected.

Dorothy giggled before surprising him by dropping down on her knees to sit in front of the cage, resuming her petting on the purring cat. "Well, it's a lot of work intimidating people," she commented. Leaning in, she whispered to the oblivious lion, "Although usually I like to be the one on your side of introductions."

Trowa crossed his arms and leaned back against the bars as Quatre softly laughed at the comment. Moving from his scrutiny of her, Trowa raised his eyes back to his friend. Quatre wore a soft smile to his lips as his eyes watched her, the warmth unmistakable in them.

Trowa had become well aware of the other's growing affections for her. It was hard to miss it when he talked about her. Quatre was like looking through painted glass. His emotions were always easily on display, but their depths made them hard to know just how far they really went. But seeing the happy ease in him next to her was enough of an indication.

Looking back down to Dorothy he wondered if that truly went both ways.

Catherine hopped back up to the group and leaned over Dorothy to get a look at the nearly asleep lion. "You keep doing that, and you'll have a friend for life," she teased.

Laughing, the blond gave him a last pat, and then rose back to her feet. "I can always use more furry friends," she turned around to her.

Catherine nodded her approval, and Quatre shook his head at the two. The lion, noticing that he'd been abandoned, reached a paw out as far as he could between the bars and batted playfully at the ends of Dorothy's hair that had come into view.

Surprised, she looked back over her shoulder and then narrowed her eyes at the feline. "Why, Mr. Lion, I'm not sure I know you well enough to let you play with my hair," she purred back at him. The others laughed at her as the cat rolled over, eyeing her playfully and still trying to reach her swaying hair. "Well now, I'm not that type of girl," she snipped indigently, getting another round of laughs.

"Well, we're not minding our manners very well," Catherine stated. "You two must be hungry," she smiled.

Dorothy nodded to Quatre, "Actually we—help!" she squeaked as Catherine once again snagged a hold on one of her hands and began leading her away.

Quatre broke out laughing at the two as they led down the side path towards the back exit. "I think I've been replaced," he commented, thinking that he was usually the one getting rounded up and dragged around.

"Quatre, come on!" Catherine called back.

"Or maybe not," he decided. Stepping away from their disheartened fuzzy pet, the two men slowly trailed after them. "They seem to be getting along well," he commented just for conversation.

"Hmm," Trowa agreed with a nod. "You said that she hit a rough patch?"

Quatre tossed his friend a sideways look, wondering how much he could say in good faith about what she had confided to him. "She sort of had a lot of her history get thrown back into her face last weekend," he stated softly. Trowa looked over, meeting his eyes, and Quatre gave him a worried expression. "She's really bounced back. But it's shaken her, badly."

They both turned back to see the two women slip out of the tent flap. Quatre didn't know what to tell Trowa as far as why he had asked her along for this visit, but the other had agreed at once that she was welcome to come. He knew that his friend had been a bit concerned when she first reintroduced herself back into his life after the war. Of course they all were a little.

Quatre hadn't exactly told anyone that he had also been looking for a way or a reason to find Dorothy again too, if only to know where she was and that she was moving on in life. It had nagged on his conscious that he didn't know what happened to her exactly after they left her on _Libra_, or if she was safe and alright. She had made a vast impression on his heart, and he couldn't ignore that. Silently he mused that he'd never told her that.

But Trowa had been rather accepting of the situation, and had easily asked about her from time to time when they talked. As always, he understood his feelings. Whether that meant he liked the idea exactly or not, he wasn't sure.

"She seems hesitant," Trowa stated quietly, shaking him out of his thoughts again.

"Her confidence has been rattled," he replied, knowing he'd seen it too several times. Of course, she was a little nervous about this meeting to start out with.

"Not what I would have expected," Trowa mused.

Quatre turned back to their conversations over the past week. She was so used to being the one singled out, the one snubbed or disgraced, cast aside, all the while being groomed on her perfect little pedestal for everyone else to see. But she was stronger than that. She had created a role for herself despite the mountain of controversy it caused, and reaped the benefits of it.

"She's changed," he commented, to both of them, as he thought about it. "The place she fought so hard to make for herself is gone now. And she doesn't want to go back to that life." She's left it for a little cabin on the lake…. "But she doesn't want to feel that she ran away."

Trowa's only reply was to softly nod.

* * *

"The farther behind I leave the past, the closer I am to forging my own character." - Isabelle Eberhardt

AN: I love Catherine to death, but let's face it, she's too bubbly for her own good. I promise she'll mellow out a little when she gets some real lines. :)

Edited by: Spiked Jin


	11. Chapter 11

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 11

"You told him to order crayfish?" Catherine blinked.

Dorothy giggled, trying not to fall over on her side laughing as she sat on the floor beside the coffee table.

Quatre shook his head, repeating the story. "I mistakenly thought that she'd be helpful and tell me what was actually edible off the menu, so of course I didn't even question it."

Dorothy was still cracking up. The two girls were both officially struck with a case of the giggles and Quatre and Trowa were too beset to do anything but sit and watch them. Catherine sat in a side chair next to where Dorothy lounged on the floor, with Quatre and Trowa sharing the couch in front of them.

Dorothy waved a hand up from behind the low table where she'd slumped backwards, looking up at Catherine instead. "I thought you knew it was joke!" she defended herself. "And then when you actually ordered it… well it was too good to stop then," she cracked up once more.

"Why would I think that was joke?" he mumbled.

Dorothy sat back up to look at him. "You spent half the night mumbling about the center pieces 'staring' at you, I thought it'd be funny," she shrugged.

"Oh, thanks."

"The centerpieces were crayfish too? Ew," Catherine added.

"Lobsters," they both corrected.

"But they were bad enough. Whoever decided on the décor was not worth their salary," Quatre added.

Catherine shook her head. "What did you expect a crayfish to be?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, a piece of… fish." Both girls died laughing again, and he sighed.

"I did feel bad," Dorothy added. "I really thought about switching plates with him when they came out, but that would have only looked worse."

"Everyone else at the table had to have seen me turn green anyway."

"Oh, no one even noticed." She slouched against the table between them. "Besides, I figured it would have only been worse if you watched me eat them."

He groaned at the nauseating image. "No, thank you."

"What did you do?" Catherine chuckled as he rubbed at his eyes.

"I had a very nice potato and some vegetable, whatever it was," Quatre sighed.

Dorothy lost it again, slumping over closer to the other woman's chair. "He spent the whole meal with his plate faced so that they weren't looking at him."

"Yeah. I'm about to get up and run away from the table, and she spends the time trying to pull me into conversations with everyone else around us," he accused.

"You needed a distraction," she shrugged.

"Right," he added sarcastically. "I tried to avoid them at all costs and not draw attention to the fact that I'm not eating these… things on my plate. Not that I would have had any clue how to eat them even if I'd wanted to," he gestured. "Finally we got to the point where everyone else was finishing up and I conveniently tossed my napkin over them."

The girls died laughing again, Dorothy nodding in agreement.

Adding an elbow to the back of the couch, Quatre propped his head up with a hand. "She's this perfect little angel through the whole meal and the ceremony, then I had to listen to her laugh like this the whole way back to her house, three and a half hours away," he muttered bitterly.

She collapsed backwards again to lie out on the floor. "World savior done in by crustaceans," she flourished.

Quatre shook his head, wondering again why he brought this up. Looking over at Trowa, he found the other pilot casually leaning a hand against his face, conveniently hiding a smirk. Narrowing his eyes at him, the other turned to meet his expression and then cracked a light chuckle. "Oh, shut up," Quatre bitterly sighed.

The two girls stopped and look up at them, Dorothy even sitting up for it, before cracking up even harder at the blatant unfairness of the comment. He laughed at their laughter more than anything and then gave his friend a mild pat on the shoulder in apology.

"OK, OK," Catherine sobered, lightly wiping at her eyes. "There's only one question you can ask after a story like that."

"What was I thinking?" he mumbled, getting Trowa to nod.

Dorothy snorted, slumping on the table again before sticking her tongue out at him, getting another round of laughs.

"No!" Catherine looked down at her, "What did he do to deserve it?"

"Nothing!" he piped in, aghast. Rethinking that quickly, he looked back down to the table, "Right?"

Dorothy swallowed back her giggles, and then cleared her throat. "He's right," she admitted. "I didn't think he'd actually order it."

"Oh, that's no fun," she whined.

"Catherine," Trowa softly admonished her. She just raised her hands and then waved him off.

"Oh no," Dorothy raised herself back to a real sitting position. "You have to ask how he got me back." The evil glint to her eyes sparkled as she looked up at her newfound friend.

The other girl gasped, and turned directly to Quatre as he tried to hide his face in his hand. "Oh, please don't make me repeat this," he whimpered.

"OK," Dorothy obliged, before starting herself. "Months later, I pay Mr. Winner here a visit and take him out for dinner." Groaning at the story he wondered how he could sneak out of the room. "I let him choose, and he takes us all the way around the colony to this little place in the middle of nowhere. I, of course, didn't think a thing of it until I opened my menu and realized it's an Indian restaurant."

"She can't take spices," he added to the waiting audience.

"And he knew this," she confirmed back, giving him a mock glare. "So I'm looking through this menu, and there was absolutely no way I was going to ask him for help because I figured he'd do the same thing to me that I did to him."

"Which I wouldn't have," he defended himself. "But you didn't ask."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I didn't. Instead I ended up ordering the hottest thing they had."

Quatre couldn't back down the chuckle at the memory. "Beef vindaloo."

The circus siblings both "oohed" over that.

"Whatever the stuff was, it should have been banned by the health board," she snipped.

The group laughed again and Quatre shook his head. "She couldn't have taken more than three bites the whole meal. The waiter had a revolving trail between our table and the water fountain."

"He's not kidding," Dorothy added. "I didn't taste anything else for a week."

"I was trying so hard not to laugh when her nose turned pink," he chuckled.

Catherine almost came off her chair that time. Dorothy threw her hands up and gave him an indignant look. "What? It wasn't enough that my eyes kept watering?"

He shrugged, "Your lips turned red too."

"Great! No wonder the poor waiter asked if I wanted to send it back. He probably thought I was going to sue."

"Quatre, you're mean!" Catherine picked on him before laying a hand on Dorothy's shoulder beside her.

"I didn't mean for it to be that bad," he tried. "Then we get out of the place and she's holding onto the building to keep herself upright."

"Oh," Dorothy groaned at the memory. "I was so sick. I thought I was going to have to have my stomach pumped."

"I felt so bad. I still do," he sheepishly added.

"You should," Catherine snipped.

"No he shouldn't!" Dorothy hurriedly corrected. "I had three months worth of apologies over that. It's enough."

"…Sorry," he mumbled as the rest broke out laughing again.

"OK, this has made me hungry. Who's ready for cake?" Catherine announced instead.

"Ooh, I'll get it!" Dorothy chimed in, hoisting herself to her feet and moving off to the kitchen area of the double trailer.

"She's been eyeing that since we got it out of the oven," Catherine winked at the two men.

"She has an illicit love-affair with chocolate," Quatre explained.

"Who doesn't?" she gave him a curious look.

Both men shook their heads.

"Sweetheart, where do you keep the forks?" came the call from the back.

"Next to the sink," Catherine answered. Turning back, she gave Quatre an odd look, "'Sweetheart?'"

Quatre reached for his teacup on the table and nodded. "You have to get used to her pet names. She's gotten worse with them lately, I'm not sure why," he half mused to himself, taking a sip.

Catherine blinked, confused, before tossing a look at Trowa and then back towards the kitchen doorway. "So… when she called you 'Darling' when you guys first got here…?"

Quatre lowered his cup, shrugging. "Same thing."

She stared at him a moment, a bit wide-eyed. "Oh…."

"Why?" Trowa asked cautiously.

"No reason," she squeaked. "I'm going to go see how that's coming." Standing quickly she all but ran for the kitchen.

The two men exchanged confused looks.

Safely behind the kitchen's door, Catherine startled Dorothy as she was dishing out the cake. "Does it matter if I used the blue plates or the brown plates?" she asked.

"Nope, just don't have a matching set," Catherine chuckled nervously.

"No reason to break out the china," the other brushed it off.

"Um… Dorothy," she began, mildly biting at her lip.

"Yes?" she didn't turn away from the cake.

"Um… I kind of, sort of…." Dorothy finally looked up at her, those pale eyes curious. Sighing, Catherine slumped. "When Trowa said that Quatre was bringing a friend that was a girl, I sort of assumed that that meant a girlfriend."

Dorothy blinked. "Oh. Sorry to disappoint," she smirked.

Catherine faltered. What was the deal with these two? "So, you're really not…?"

Turning back to the cake, she shook her head. "No. We're friends, and technically business associates."

"What, that's it?" she asked before slapping a hand over her mouth, and mentally kicking herself for saying that.

There was a good-natured chuckle before the other woman gave her a demure look and handed her two finished plates. "I know, I know, I have my mental check up next week."

Catherine laughed so hard that she just about dropped the plates she was holding.

* * *

Dorothy slept on the foldout couch in the living room of Catherine's side of the trailer. The custom designed setup of the tow-able home placed a kitchen at the back across the whole width of the building, and then a separation wall the rest of the way through the middle, with individual front entrances, and ones into the kitchen.

This way, Catherine and Trowa had two separate living areas, while still sharing a common space. She sort of wondered about the two sharing the mobile home, but had shrugged it off after seeing what Quatre meant by their "sibling" relationship.

The bedrooms and bathrooms were about the only things totally enclosed in the place, and it was a little uncomfortable for her to feel that there was nothing between her and… anything else. However, after a week on colony, she was finding that sleep came a little easier, and after being tortured for information by Catherine until two in the morning, she'd finally dozed off.

Only to be awakened by having her pillow stolen out from under her head and promptly hit in the face with it. Gasping she immediately lashed out, trying to kick her covers aside to allow for a fighting chance against some unseen attacker, having no idea where she was for a moment.

She stopped when the pillow was pulled away again and Catherine's trademarked laughter brought her fully out of her dreams. "Come on Dorothy, you'll miss it!" she cheerily addressed her, tossing the pillow back to land on her chest instead.

Dorothy blinked her eyes open, the dim lighting denoting that it wasn't late enough for her brain to start functioning yet. "Miss what?" she tried, her voice cracking from sleep.

"You've got five minutes to be presentable," Catherine called over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "No need to look fancy, you can change later."

She tried to give the woman's back a hard glare but her eyes were too blurry and right now she couldn't care less. "I hate perky morning people," she confided to the pillow now on top of her.

Deciding that she wouldn't be a good guest if she made Catherine repeat that sort of treatment, she managed to make her body move towards the bathroom, wobbling a little on her feet. Quickly washing up, she moved on to brushing her teeth when she found herself trying to hum at the same time. Finding that odd, she paused, listening as she gave herself a confused expression in the mirror.

No, she wasn't still dreaming. She could hear the soft strains of a violin. Just a few bars here and there, warming up perhaps, but to the tune of…. Dorothy listened again, picking up with a hum where the music left off once more. "La Primavera."

Dorothy knew her classical composers quite well, but the idea that someone here knew Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" came as a shock to her. Especially considering it had to be a memorized piece for someone to use it just to play with for tuning.

"Dorothy, come on!" Catherine yelled from behind the door.

Snapped out of her thoughts, she quickly rinsed out her mouth and her brush and then hoped no one would care that she was in her sleep pants and a tank top. Stepping out of the bathroom, she found Catherine fully dressed—and wearing a lot less—so she decidedly didn't dwell on it.

The other girl smiled and gave her a wink, then took her arm and led her back through the kitchen and quietly snuck them towards Trowa's doorway. "This is totally the best part of these two getting together," Catherine giggled, and then shushed herself.

Dorothy followed along out of complete abandon, falling perfectly into step with her as they tiptoed inside the doorway. She felt rather uncomfortable being slipped into Trowa's apartment without permission, but hey, what are sisters for?

However, her attention was immediately taken by the men at the other end of the trailer. The two were up, fully dressed and neatly put together, and Quatre's couch was back to position, with the pillow and blankets folded up on it.

Oh, she hated morning people.

But the two stood, Quatre with the violin that she must have heard tuning, and Trowa with a flute in hand, surprising her to no ends. She knew from Miss Relena's school that Quatre played the piano, rather well at that, but she hadn't realized that his musical inclination went farther. And Trowa… well that was just a shock.

Catherine pulled her down to sit with her next to the door in the back, watching as the two men began an impromptu duet. Quatre led, starting a quick and utterly random rendition of "Any Dream Will Do" by Webber, before breaking into something she couldn't place. Trowa provided a complimentary melody, neither exactly following anything specific.

The men played by heart, both with their eyes closed, Quatre with a slight smile to his face. Trowa's hair hid most of what she could see of the other pilot as he followed along, weaving strands of notes into Quatre's melody.

Dorothy sat, leaned against Catherine, who still held both of her hands in hers from when she'd pulled her down to sit on the floor to watch. She was sure that both men noticed them enter, but neither broke away to worry about it.

It was beautiful. That was the only word that could filter into her head as she listened to them. Beautiful. Both of them. Their compliment of each other perfect.

Dorothy had noted once before, the only other time she had seen the two together, that they shared far more than a common thread of war. At first appearance they seemed nothing alike, yet she was just beginning to see how similar these two souls were.

She thought back to yesterday, and the touch of Trowa's hand on hers. It was a completely different feel from Quatre, gentle but less warm, much more insistent. Dorothy would admit that the man still intimidated her somewhat, but he also intrigued her now far more. He had shown her every consideration and seemed to be as accepting of her as Quatre himself had been. He just wasn't exactly an outwardly warm person to begin with.

But maybe that impression had been wrong. Dorothy's mother had been a wonderful musician, and she had learned very early in her childhood that she could learn a lot about someone's mood by the music they played. She pushed back those memories, not wanting to feel anything but what these two were laying out before her here and now.

The melodies were fun and upbeat. Happy. Their combinations were light as the two played off each other better than she had ever seen before. They seemed to know where they were going together with no outward direction.

Beautiful. It was still the only way to describe them.

The melody changed again, opting for a slightly more difficult piece as Quatre led. Dorothy shifted her attention more to him as they continued on, following the movements of his bow. His manner was easy, confident, and extremely well versed. This was not something that he had picked up recently.

The masterful ease in his movements was flawless, and she found herself fixated with the purposeful tremble in his fingers on his held notes as the music folded around her, lulling her deeper. The happy tune was light, uplifting, just for fun. Music was opening, and with these two she was absolutely sure that the old adage was true as she felt the warm feelings wrap around her.

Quatre again turned them, the song going a little mellower now, and Dorothy slowly recognized the main influence being from "Clair de Lune." The love song however was only providing a nice foundation for the good-natured enhancements to it as he reinvented the piece.

Dorothy softly felt herself melt, listening to the haphazard sway of their instruments, her eyes only half open, watching the gentle caress of Quatre's bow over the strings, the wistful smile to his lips. How beautiful did a soul have to be to be able to play like that? She openly wondered over it as she silently hummed along with the lines that were becoming steadily more prevalent in his playing, the tone changing, sinking deeper.

All at once the notes shifted, the makeshift overtones gone, and there was nothing but the tenderhearted strands at the end of the song's movement before he stuttered to a stop, his eyes blinking open.

Trowa hadn't attempted to follow that, and apparently gave him an odd look because Quatre returned a nervous chuckle. "Sorry."

It really didn't matter because Catherine had released her hands in order to clap, drawing their attention to them in the darkest corner of the trailer, seated on the floor and leaned against each other. "Yea!" she cheered, obviously enthused with the concert.

Dorothy snapped out of it enough to clap as well, following the other girl's lead.

Quatre sighed and then gave them a shallow bow for his blunder. "Great, I'm audience shy."

That actually got a chuckle out of Trowa.

* * *

The two siblings were out the door not long after the group nibbled at breakfast, needing to finish a few things before rehearsal, which had to be completed before the first of the audience arrived. Once again on Catherine's side of the trailer, Quatre and Dorothy were left on their own for part of the day.

Dorothy still hadn't managed to get changed yet, although she didn't seem to be in a hurry. She was laid out on her open bed still, currently holding her pillow under her head with both arms to protect it. She'd already told the others what sort of alarm clock she'd been woken up with this morning.

"I didn't realize you were so talented," she teased, her eyes still closed.

Quatre sipped at his cup instead, seated in the chair opposite her. Smiling shyly, he tried to shake it off. "Thank you."

"You two are very good together," she continued. "I've never seen impromptu like that before."

Again he stared into his cup. "Thank you."

There was a lengthy pause as Quatre didn't know what else to say, and Dorothy seemed more interested in snoozing for a little while longer. Truth be told, he couldn't focus. Something had really shaken him this morning, something he still didn't, and couldn't, understand.

He'd… felt something.

It wasn't exactly something new. He'd experienced the feelings before. During the war, he had been able to instinctually know emotions and inner conflicts in some of those around him. It was a gift that he'd never understood, only learned to accept. There were a few times that he was honestly able to see into someone else.

But it had always been in a desperate situation, when the other person's emotions were running so high and so close to the surface that he couldn't have stopped himself from seeing them.

It had never happened with Dorothy. He'd gotten a good look at her mental state on _Libra _when her emotions were pounding against him, but not like this. Not at all like this….

She'd been open, honestly open. The trust in her was so pure, so intense, that he'd felt it—had taken her emotions as his own for a moment, and heard her voice in his head—humming along with the song. In a way, it was like being taken in her arms and cradled directly to her heart, listening to her emotions whisper to one another.

But what they said confused him. They were soft, tender, content. It surprised him with her life as it was now, but at least at that moment she'd been at peace. There was a sense of wonderment, a happy disbelief—so to speak—which he didn't understand. But nothing stood out, which was very odd. There was simply no major emotion in her, just the wonderful caress of her.

It didn't make any sense. It wasn't like what he'd always felt before. There was always an overwhelming sense of… something. Anger, worry, pain, sadness, need, love. Something. Anything that would call out to him.

This wasn't….

Quatre paused his thoughts, finally looking from his cup to where she laid, her head on her pillow, and her hair draped over her side and hip, covering her like a blanket. With a soft smile he noted that she had fallen asleep.

This time, when he felt someone else, it wasn't because of an overwhelming emotion; it was just because she was open to him. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't meant to understand it. He'd just been allowed a peek.

He wished he knew how he'd managed that, even though he would be too shaken to try it again.

She was falling deeper into sleep, he could tell, her features were paler than usual. The soft cream of her complexion, compared with the corn silk of her hair, always had inspired him to notice her beauty. He was even well aware that he was beginning to find her family-heritage eyebrows an individualizing beauty mark.

Silently he set his cup down, and rose to move around the table to her. He paused just a moment beside her to make sure he wouldn't wake her, and then reached over to the disheveled blanket that had been left from the night before. He brought it up and very gently pulled it over her, covering her bare feet and up to her shoulder, placing it lightly over her exposed arm that was hugging her pillow.

Dorothy didn't stir and he was sure she would be out for a little while. The poor thing, he knew the two had been up far later than he was last night. He had woken a couple times to the sound of giggles coming from this room. Not that he'd minded.

Softly he knelt down to the floor, and then turned to sit back against the edge of the couch-bed near her feet. Quatre had no idea how to place his emotions for her anymore. There were times this week that he would have gladly pushed her on a space plane and sent her home. But most of the time, he was more than happy to be with her.

He wanted to be. He had grown used to "coming home" to her. It was dumb, and very possibly stemmed more from the fact that he seldom got the chance to leave home himself these days than it did from the fact that she was there. Maybe he was honestly just a little lonely.

But that didn't account for the way he reacted to her sometimes. It was his protective side that worried him. He had found his reaction to her story of Andrew a little overzealous, and he was realizing now that she would be all right. But that side of him wouldn't back down yet. He seemed to be constantly on edge to shield her, and he knew very well that she didn't need it. And, more importantly, wouldn't want it.

Dorothy Catalonia was nothing if not independent, and rightfully so. Stepping on that would be a mistake he would regret. However, there was a much more feminine need in her that longed for a comforting hold. It wasn't a side that got out all that often, but he'd seen it a few times now. A purely instinctual need for a loving pair of arms, and maybe a shoulder.

The thing that struck him was how much he wanted to be that for her. How much he would give to know that he was the one she would turn to when she needed it. He wanted the best for her, he could understand that. But he also wanted to _be_ the best for her.

And that was exactly what didn't make sense. Why should it matter? Was he so arrogant to believe that there was no one else in her life that could care for her the way he did? That he was just something so special?

…Something special. He wanted to be someone special to her.

He was just that cocky, wasn't he? He didn't trust anyone else with her. What did he believe he could do for her that no one else could?

No. He didn't think someone _couldn't_ do something for her. He didn't _want_ someone else to.

Mentally sighing, he looked over at her sleeping face. _Dorothy, what are you doing to me?_

* * *

"The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one other person." - Vi Putnam

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	12. Chapter 12

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 12

"Why didn't you wake me?" she huffed at the startled young man in the kitchen area.

Quatre blinked back at her a moment before giving her a timid smile. "You were protecting your pillow too well."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "So you left me?" she accused.

The poor man was at a loss, "Well, you seemed like you could use the rest, so I covered you up and made sure that I didn't—"

Dorothy sighed again and held up a hand to stop him. "Never mind. May I have a cup?"

He obediently handed over the one that she'd interrupted him from putting back into the cupboard. Apparently, if you get a teenaged corporate president bored enough he'll even do the dishes while you're asleep.

Relenting, she shook her head. "Sorry, I get crabby when I take a nap," she mumbled out an apology.

"Oh," came the non-committal acknowledgement. A little too non-committal. She turned back from her cup on the counter and narrowed her eyes at him. Quatre was turned away, trying for all he was worth to keep the smile off his face. "I didn't say it," he tried.

"You thought it," she accused.

"How can you be mad at me for thinking something?" he finally laughed.

She raised an indignant eyebrow. "Try not to think it so loudly next time." He slumped in defeat, and Dorothy happily poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the back burner. Not very warm, but it would still do.

"Um… Dorothy?"

"Yes?" she mumbled, finding the creamer and sugar next to the stove.

"You might not want to try that," he cautioned.

She paused with three sugar packets readied to be torn over her cup and looked over at him. "Try what?"

"The coffee," he motioned to her cup. At a loss again, she blinked at him and waited for him to continue so she wouldn't have to expend the energy to ask why. "You know how Catherine and I kept throwing bad coffee comments around?"

She vaguely nodded.

Quatre mildly shrugged. "We weren't kidding. Trowa honestly cannot make a decent pot of coffee."

Dorothy broke out a laugh but shook it off. "You know how much stuff I put in mine, I won't even notice."

"You've been warned."

"Yeah, yeah," she brushed it off. Adding the sugar, and then snagging three packets of creamer, she dumped it in too. Typically by this point her coffee was the color of old paper… not dirt. Raising an eyebrow at the offending cup, she snuck a glance back at Quatre, who stood passively next to the sink watching her. "Spoon."

Opening the drawer he handed one to her and she stirred it in, still not getting anywhere in the color department.

"Hm. Creamer," she tried again. He surgically handed her two more packets. Dumping them in, she stirred once again, getting it up to cardboard complexion this time. "Sugar." Again he handed her two more packets, but she decided it would be a waste of good sugar if this experiment failed. Handing one back to him she threw the other in. "Here we go," she gave it a final stir.

Raising the cup, she looked at it with a slight cringe. Quatre silently watched her, a bit worried looking, but she gave him a shrug and decided to be brave.

Taking a sip, she made a face but swallowed it. "Does he know he's supposed to add water or does he just liquefy the beans themselves?" she suggested, the taste of coffee still far too strong and bitter for her.

He gave her a look of total abandon, "It's instant. Catherine took the real stuff away from him a year ago."

Dorothy had to use both hands to put her cup back on the counter before she spilled it all down the front of her. She was laughing so hard that her knees nearly buckled, and she ended up leaned over the countertop for support.

"I told you we weren't kidding," he broke through. "I mean, I love the guy, but he's always been bad at this."

She tried to shake it off, but she just couldn't with him still talking in the background. Lightly, she felt him wrap an arm around her waist, moving to support her since he probably noticed she was about to fall over.

"I'm really not that bad," came a very neutral reply from the other end of the kitchen.

Dorothy gasped outright, both hands coming up to cover her mouth. She felt Quatre quickly pull back from her. "I hate rooms with two entrances," he muttered.

She turned to look over at where the taller man stood causally, leaning against the doorway to his side of the trailer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated over again, forgetting to move her hands from her mouth.

Quatre only started laughing, and reached back to pat her shoulder. "I tried to warn her," he commented.

Trowa shrugged before walking through the kitchen and towards the doorway to Catherine's side. "Doesn't matter," he caught her eye with a good-humored twinkle in them. "That's still from yesterday."

--

"You two are strange. Fun, but strange."

"I seem to collect friends like," Quatre mused to himself with another spoonful of ice cream.

Dorothy looked down at him from her perch on the picnic table they sat at, giving him an un-amused expression. She sat on top of the table, her feet resting on the bench, while he sat at the table normally, watching the crowd wander around. "You're different."

He watched her take a lingering bite of her own ice cream as she blankly turned away, a thoughtful expression to her. "Different?" he pried.

She mildly shrugged. "Different than you are with everyone else."

"Alright," he drawled. Not having any idea where she was going with that, he turned back to watch the groups and families go by. The colony they were on was using the traveling circus as a good excuse to use the rest of the fair grounds to hold a regular carnival. With their group holding evening performances, the grounds were full of people enjoying rides, games and food around the area during the day. It was apparently quite an attraction.

"How do I ask this…?" came a light whisper from above him.

Quatre turned back to her, finding a frown to her features as the plastic spoon absently tapped against her lips. Giving her un-seeing form an odd look, he shrugged to himself. "Ask what?"

She slowly turned back, eyeing him a moment, considering something. He gave her a patient smile to try to prod her along, and she finally shook it off. "You two seem closer than you do with the others."

He paused, not exactly knowing what to say to that.

Fortunately she beat him to it, obviously wanting to explain herself. "I mean, I've seen you with Duo, Heero, Miss Relena, the doctor lady who's name I keep forgetting, the new Mr. and Mrs. Marquise, all of them. And you're not the same."

He blinked. "Sally Po," he added to correct her before sorting through the rest of that. Different? "How am I different?" he questioned, confused as to what she'd noticed.

Dorothy slumped a little, turning away with a frustrated sigh. "I never should have brought this up."

Quatre sat dumbfounded, looking up at her, waiting for something, and at the same time wondering if he really wanted her to delve too far into what happened between them during the war.

"You just seem different. Little-brother-like," she tried.

He kicked that over in his head a moment. "I suppose that could be true." _Little_ brother?

She shrugged again, and dug back into her ice cream cup. "I don't know. You just seem to follow him, like you're still looking for approval or something."

Well that wasn't a flattering comment. "Really?"

She took a bite and mulled it over. "I don't mean that in a bad way necessarily. It just seems like you hold him in higher respect. You look up to him. And I've never seen that in you with anyone else. Even Rasid and the others who are older than you."

He paused as she came back to meet his eyes again, a slightly curious look to her. Realizing that she was looking for an answer, he quickly tried to come up with one. "I'm… I suppose you're right, I do. I… I guess I've never really thought of it before." Finding her eyes again he stopped himself before looking down and sucking in a deep breath. "I am closer to him than the others I guess. At least somewhat."

Of course he was. Without Trowa he wouldn't be here. And if he'd had his way, the colony they were standing on wouldn't be either. None of them would be. He'd become so utterly lost that—not again.

He shut his eyes, forcing his thoughts away from those memories. Softly, a hand landed on his shoulder and he snapped back to find Dorothy giving him a concerned look. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to bring up a bad memory."

"It's alright," he said instead. "I think I understand what you mean." Trowa had been his saving grace, and at the same time, the one he had failed so completely that he still didn't know if he felt forgiven for it. His friend's words had been the only thing that brought him back from the edge that he was so ready to jump off of. …And it nearly cost him his life.

Quatre's first instinct was to dive into the story, to finally tell her what had happened. But his throat closed up on him. Looking up into those gray-violet eyes that he had become so trusting of… he couldn't do it. He still couldn't tell her what had happened to him, and it tore into him at the same time it relieved him.

"I almost got him killed, Dorothy… trying to protect me," he confided to the tabletop instead. "I owe him more than my life."

I owe him for saving me from a path that would have been a living hell. And for saving me from becoming what I hated most.

Her touch on his shoulder moved as her hand slipped over to gently raise his chin to look at her. "You guys seem to have a habit of doing that," she softly stated, her eyes warm.

The comment sent a tiny shiver down his back. Had he managed to talk back her sanity too? Did the stories really have that much similarity? Looking up at her he realized just how blessed he was to have both of them alive, well, and near him still.

There was a sting to the back of his eyes as he closed them. Taking her hand from his chin he squeezed it in his, holding that feeling as long as possible. Absently he placed a lingering kiss on it, meeting his lips to the back of her wrist.

He was surprised when she squirmed and pulled it back with a squeak. "That just feels odd," she explained when he turned to blink back up at her.

All he could do was laugh as she rubbed at it looking a bit…. "I'm getting better at this blushing thing," he smiled, propping his chin up with a hand, and happily noting the pale pink stain to her cheeks.

Dorothy's eyes widened and she turned sharply away, looking miserably annoyed. She picked her cup back up and tried to look normal as she irritably continued on her mostly melted puddle of chocolate.

Quatre chuckled mildly to himself, knowing again why he got into these types of conversations with her. Mentally marking the action as something he would have to try again, he moved on. "Do I really seem brotherly?" he mused, wondering if that was a good thing.

"You both do. Trowa seems very protective of you, defensive maybe." She shrugged, still not looking at him, "You seem a bit clingy."

"Clingy?" Alright, that was just not a nice thing to say. "You're being bitter aren't you?" he accused.

She gaped outright, giving him an indignant stare. "I most certainly am not."

"Clingy?" he repeated for emphasis.

Rolling her eyes, she went back to her cup. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, dear, but you are a rather emotionally unstable person."

Quatre repeated that in his head once more with a frown. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You take everything so personally."

He propped up his chin with a hand and gave her a patient look. "Like being called clingy?"

She blinked, "Would you rather I called you needy, or maybe obliviously trusting?"

"No," he grumbled.

"I think it's kind of cute."

"I might remind you that, were I not so 'clingy,' I would have dumped you off at the nearest spaceport by now," he interrupted.

She laughed at him instead. "See, taking things way too personally."

Rolling his eyes, he specifically turned away from her. "Fine. So I'm clingy and you're a flirt. Now we both have labels we don't like."

"I am not," she snipped.

He turned back to give her a disbelieving look. "How do you not classify yourself as a flirt? You're the woman who took it as a compliment when I tried to confide to you what I overheard coming out of the break room at my office after your visit."

Mildly turning away she found something else to look at. "I didn't say that I took that as a compliment," she softly tried.

He narrowed his eyes at her anyway. "You were happy that you wore a skirt and asked if you got any good leg comments." Even Dorothy couldn't keep herself from laughing over that. "Furthermore, you taunted me for information on whether or not I joined in on the derogatory conversation."

"I found it very mild. You're the one that found it derogatory," she defended.

"You are the only woman I know that would not take personal insult to the phrase 'do I use a good pickup line to get her to stay, or a bad one so she'll walk away'!"

Laughing again, she mildly tucked her hair back behind her shoulder again. "Oh, lighten up, it was funny." She suddenly sobered. "That wouldn't happen to have been from that bald, chubby guy from the break room yesterday, was it?"

Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her. "If I knew who it was he wouldn't be employed anymore."

She mildly leaned over closer to him. "_Way_ too personally," she whispered confidentially.

He glanced up at her, the blue in her eyes sparkling with the humor he didn't feel. "Why do I like you?"

She hummed to herself a moment. "I make your life interesting," she offered. He blinked at her before cracking a hopeless chuckle. "And I make you laugh," she happily announced.

"That's because I don't want to cry," he mumbled.

"Emotionally unstable," came the singsong remark.

With a dramatic groan, he turned away from her. "I have enough insecurities without you adding to them," he huffed.

Dorothy broke out laughing at him before slipping off the table and onto the bench beside him, sitting backwards. "Insecurities keep us humble."

"I need to loan you some then," he offered.

He felt her lean into him, her side against his. "You keep too many. You have no reason to, you know."

Quatre mildly sighed, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. She was poking at a number of them at the moment, although he was sure she didn't mean to. "Yes, I know," he admitted. "It's just my nature."

She softly leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder as she faced the other way. Quatre smiled at the move, knowing that her light apologies were typically never verbal after something like this, but they meant the same. A quirk of her character that he still found rather endearing.

"You have a nasty habit of taking on everyone else's problems," she softly remarked.

_Including yours_, he mentally finished for her. He turned just enough to nuzzle gently into her hair, still feeling very close to her this morning. "I want to," he admitted. "I can't separate myself from those I care about."

He softly closed his eyes on the comment, knowing with her it was a little more than that. The quiet stretched out between them, and he silently worked at memorizing the airy, floral scent of her hair. He had figured out at some point during their dealings that she didn't wear perfume; it was her shampoo or conditioner that gave her the breezy fragrance that he'd always associated her with. Except for the last time he'd gotten close, when these poor strands had been a bit chlorine-logged.

"Does that really… include me?"

It took a second for the question to open his eyes. "Of course it does," he answered, figuring out what she was talking about.

"Quatre…." The name stilled him, her voice oddly monotone. "I've told you before that you should be careful with whom you care about."

He swallowed down the words, knowing exactly what she meant by that. "And I've told you that I will not let someone else dictate my feelings."

Still she didn't move from his shoulder, but the strength of his voice was a direct contrast to her own. "I used to think that was the only problem. That it was always 'someone else' that stereotyped me in with the rest… but it really wasn't," she trailed down to a whisper.

Quatre sat, confused, unable to move with her leaned against him. His immediate thought was to refute her outright, but he choked that back, knowing he needed to understand. "What do you mean?"

"My nature isn't nearly as noble as yours. I've always been very good at looking after myself… and no one else." He felt her sigh, her body straightening away from him. "I don't want to hurt anyone again."

Quatre mentally cursed Andrew Varnhem for the hundredth time this week before pushing it aside. But the bitterness lingered in his mind. "Why are you always so sure that you'll hurt me?"

He watched her profile as she looked away from him, probably sorting through her own thoughts.

Shaking his head, he tried to find how to put this into words. "Dorothy, whether you believe you can trust yourself or not, I wish you could trust me."

That got her to look at him, the same scared worry he'd seen before was centered in her eyes.

He held her gaze, trying to be comforting, but fighting his own resigned attitude. "There is nothing you can do or say that will change what I, or what anyone else, feels."

She surprised him by shaking her head. "I believed that once. All I managed to do was prove myself wrong." She humorlessly snorted, her eyes losing some of the worry as they turned away. "I'm a flirt, all I do is influence what other people feel, right?"

Quatre blinked, wondering how she could believe that. Licking his lips, he shook his head. "Dorothy, your flirtations have never, and will never, cause an _emotional_ response in another living soul," he stated matter-of-fact.

She turned back, a bit shocked at him apparently, and he caught her eyes and kept them.

"You want to know a very solid, honest fact?" he waited for a second, softening out his expression. "You get that little predatory gleam to your eyes, and you intimidate me far more than anything else. It makes me nervous and, quite honestly… uncomfortable."

Poor Dorothy blinked at him, obviously beside herself.

And he smiled at her. "You have never once endeared yourself to me while acting out that side of your personality. I will fully admit that it carries itself over into your more companionate side as well though," he confided. "But that isn't the same. And it certainly isn't premeditative."

"…What?"

Quatre gently leaned towards her and brought up a hand to brush against her cheek. "It means that you can't help what someone feels for you. Good or bad." He gave her a soft chuckle. "You may be a very good flirt. But you would have to be a terribly evil-spirited person to pretend to have real feelings for someone else, and get them to return that. That's the only way that you would actually influence the emotions of someone else. And I know you wouldn't do that."

She silently shook her head no.

He searched her eyes a moment longer. "Stop worrying about it," he gently prodded her.

"But that doesn't explain…" she stopped herself.

Taking his hand away he waited, "Explain what?"

Her eyes closed on her words, "How does that explain Andrew?"

At first he didn't get it, had no idea what she was talking about, until he starting wrapping this all together. "You're honestly asking me how you managed to have a man fall in love with you?"

He watched her slump back to lean against the table behind her. "I know what it sounds like, but yes. I mean I had absolutely no idea what he felt for me. How am I supposed to know?"

Quatre mildly shrugged. "How do you know the emotions of anyone? If you're lucky, they tell you. Otherwise, you have to pick up hints."

"What if there are none," she quietly asked, finding the ground in front of her rather interesting.

"There's usually some," he tried. Thinking back to all the things that she had told him about her past with Andrew he turned them over in his head. "Either you're not used to seeing it, or he's very good at not showing it."

That got a mild chuckle from her. "Military family. Trust me, he is exceptionally gifted at not showing things."

"In this case he should have," he added bitterly, still having a sour taste in his mouth whenever he thought of the man's visit to her.

She actually broke a genuine smile, turning back to him. "Still willing to go beat him up for me?"

"Me and thirty-nine of my closest friends," he agreed. "He had better hope that neither of us ever tells Rasid this story."

"I think he's really starting to like me," she mused.

Quatre chuckled, "I think Rasid wants to adopt you."

"That could have its perks," she considered, but then shook it off. "I know you may not believe this, Quatre, but I don't think Andrew meant to hurt me," she stated softly. "From what he knows of me… I would have never admitted that it did."

He gave her profile a sideways look. She really had changed. Sometimes he forgot that, it was just a natural progression to him. But he had been with her during this time, her older friends hadn't. "I understand," he mildly answered. "I just tend to be a bit overprotective."

"Part of that clingy thing," she whispered.

He gave her the best withering glare he could manage, which must have failed miserably because she started laughing. Sighing, he continued, "No matter what he meant to do, the fact remains that he did hurt you. And you're right, I do take things like that personally."

"Especially when it's not your problem."

He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple. "I can't separate myself, remember?"

"I never should have brought this to you," she mildly shook her head.

He stopped, just plain at a loss for what was going through her. "I'm glad you did," he answered honestly. That arrogant edge to him wouldn't back down. "I really want you to know that no matter what, you can always come to me. I want you to feel that you can trust me."

For a reason that he honestly didn't know, her eyes changed. They softened, a warm smile tugging at them and her lips. Hey, maybe he finally said something to….

Gently she reached out to him, taking his face in both of her hands and leaned into him. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes saying it twice. Unfortunately he didn't get the chance to brush it off before she slipped farther in, tilting just enough and softly pressing her lips to his.

Caught completely off guard, as usual, he missed his chance to return it once more as she effortlessly slipped away. Mentally kicking himself again, he let her move off the bench to stand up. "…You're welcome," he whispered instead, remembering to blink.

"So, what do we do for this afternoon?" came the unfazed voice from behind him.

* * *

"Dorothy, are you ready yet?" Catherine called over her shoulder.

"Maybe?" came a muffled response from the closed bedroom door.

Quatre and Trowa entered from the kitchen and tossed shrugs at each other, walking over to where Catherine was busily rearranging sacks and boxes that now cluttered the living room and walkway that led to the kitchen.

"Find a seat, we'll be just a minute," she smiled politely to them, and then turned fully towards the bedroom again. "Any day now!" she shouted.

Quatre mildly winced but did as instructed, the two men clearing a space on the couch, not wanting that voice turned on them.

"What is this?" Trowa asked, observing the wreckage of the room.

"Just a little shopping," Catherine smiled.

Quatre gave his friend a weak smile as a warning look. "They were gone for two hours, be thankful this was all that came back with them."

Trowa very specifically didn't comment and sat down instead as Catherine got everything into a pile, and then took a seat across from them in the chair.

She had just gotten settled when the door to her bedroom opened. Finally appearing out of the doorway, Dorothy was fiddling with the strap on her shoulder, "Sweetheart, honestly, I haven't shown this much cleavage in public since I developed some."

She stopped dead as soon as she looked up at where she was going, finding the two of them on the couch curiously staring at her instead.

"I suppose that's a rather moot point now, isn't it?" she muttered, finally blinking back her surprise.

Quatre blinked a couple times too just to be sure he was seeing this right. His dear, overly-daring but classy, Lady had gone from her usual assortment of skirts and dress slacks, to a casual pair of jeans. And her unrevealing blouses had been replaced by a yellow printed, spaghetti-strapped top, which did indeed unveil more of her than he'd previously been witness to. The filmy material of the top hung loose once it passed the little tie just under her—

"Ow!" he cried as a shoe collided with his shin just above the ankle.

"Oopsies, wrong person," Catherine nervously chuckled.

Trowa mildly nodded to him as he looked up from rubbing at the probable bruise. "You have to watch for that," he added.

"What did I do?" he incredulously asked the two.

Dorothy had walked up to Catherine's side, giving him a concerned look. Turning back to the other woman she blinked. "Honestly, my ego can take it if no one applauds. You don't have to hurt the guy for me."

The other woman returned a sheepish smile. "My aim seems to be a little off."

"Not what I want to hear," Trowa quietly interjected, still watching him mildly rub at the offended spot.

"I might want to get in a few practice swings," she added.

Figuring that he better take the chance to get out while he could, he looked up again. "Dorothy you look great. Now let's go before she finds something else to beat me up for," he half-teased.

The two men stood and Dorothy twisted around, searching the floor. "Anybody seen my shoes?" she asked.

"Bathroom," Catherine threw over her shoulder. "Pick a good spot for her," she winked at him before following Trowa out the door.

"Just like home," Dorothy mumbled emerging from the bathroom again, slipping a pair of white sandals on her feet.

Seeing the other two out the door, he turned back to watch her pull the back strap of her shoe on, once again not failing to notice how atypical the outfit was. "I'm assuming that you let Catherine do your wardrobe?" he teased.

She straightened and tossed her hair back behind her again before giving him a disapproving look. "Don't start. All I said was they were cute. I have no idea how I bought them."

Quatre couldn't help but chuckle, before clearing his throat and offering her an arm. "May I, Milady?"

She gave him a grateful smile and took his arm as he escorted her out the door.

* * *

The two were there far earlier than most other audience members, so they got wonderful seats for the first act. Which was great because Dorothy had just about died laughing the first time Trowa entered the ring wearing that clown outfit. She probably missed half of his performance with their dear friend Mr. Lion while Quatre was trying to shush her.

And she finally figured out why the three tossed around so many "aim" and "pin cushion" jokes. She honestly had no idea that her roommate had such a fond regard for sharp pointy objects. Although, if you ever needed a good target, Trowa made a very unflinching victim, which just seemed to lose all the fun for her.

By the time the band came out for the musical intermission, she was thoroughly having a blast. But she was surprised when Quatre took her hand and led them out of the stands and towards the backstage area. "Are we allowed?" she asked.

"Sure we are," he smiled back to her, lifting the curtain flap for her to slip through ahead of him. "We just can't stay long." The two kept out of the way of the bustling performers as they slipped back to the costuming area where Catherine was busily handing out props and directing traffic.

"Hey! What do you think of us now?" she winked at Dorothy.

"You guys are great," she smiled. "I should have paid for a ticket."

She felt Quatre slip up close to her side, fingertips landing on her shoulder for just a second. "I'll be right back," he whispered to her, headed off to where she could see Trowa rummaging through a collection of supplies. Nodding, she let him slip away.

Poor Quatre. The man seemed a little flustered with her outfit for the evening. Nothing much, but she'd noticed that he tended to avoid flesh-to-flesh contact, which was made difficult with this shirt. Rolling her eyes, she figured she had the only man in the Earth Sphere that actually believed in keeping his hands to himself.

Oh well, she'd just consider it nice for a change.

Catherine pointed out a few things for her, and generally talked her through some of the work the others were doing while they moved positions and rearranged parts of the stage. The two giggled together as she continued to pass out items and pair up certain people for whatever. It was a well-oiled machine in here, and Dorothy loved it.

Trowa suddenly appeared next to Catherine's other side, quickly picking up a bin of items and moving off again, catching his circus sister's eye in the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen him give.

But that the clown costume had been rather modified for this second act apparently. The puffy pants, the shirt and the fan-folded collar were gone, replaced by a rather normal pair of pants and… nothing but a pair of suspenders.

Dorothy couldn't help but follow his form as he carried the tub of instruments around to the other side of the area, quickly fanning out the contents in whatever order they would obviously need them. "Catherine…?" she mumbled.

"Yeah?" the other answered, preoccupied with the rush of groups here and there.

"May I ask a personal question?"

She turned back, blinking at her. "Course," she smiled.

She still didn't turn from Trowa's display as he obliviously worked away. "Just how 'siblingly' are you two really?"

"Huh?"

Catching the girl's deep violet eyes, she held her gaze with what Quatre had termed her "predatory gleam." "Well, he's your brother like 'we're all God's children' or he's your brother as in you honestly don't find that attractive," she nodded over to where he was busily moving around with a group.

The other woman's eyes went wide. "Dorothy!" she accused.

"What?" she shrugged.

Catherine closed both hands over her mouth, staring at her. Well, she hadn't thought it was that bad of a question, and it was the mildest way she could have possibly put it.

Unfortunately it was too late to take it back by the time Catherine moved one hand and used a finger to motion for her to look behind her.

Dorothy felt herself take on the same wide-eyed look that her new friend had as she very slowly pivoted to see Quatre mildly standing behind her, leaned against one of the tent supports, his arms crossed over his chest.

There was nothing else to do but flash an endearing smile and bat her eyelashes.

* * *

"Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

AN: OK, remember the scene at the circus with Trowa and Wufei after he fails to kill Treize? Trowa says something like "this may not be the best cup of java" or whatever. Ever notice that Wufei smiles, but never actually tries any? Yeah, I think the smile was really a wince because it looked that bad! Alright, I'm imagining things, but come on, Trowa's too perfect for his own good. …It's annoying. How can I pick on the guy?

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	13. Chapter 13

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 13

Trowa easily made his way out onto the tightrope, moving silently into position for their final act. The lights were focused down on the ring's floor away from him to hide his movements until their timing was right. Taking his mark, he stood on the wire, gazing down at the crowd circled around the tent.

It was a vantage point he tended to savor, the crowd unknowingly laid out in front of him as the dim heights shrouded him from their sight. Observation was always a key for him.

Scanning the crowd he easily picked out the two he had casually had an eye on all evening. Quatre and Dorothy sat together in the bleachers, the two platinum blonds easily identifiable as they watched the floor production in front of them.

Quatre had seen enough of these performances to have some of the older skits memorized by now, but Dorothy seemed to be genuinely having fun. The two sat close to each other in the crowd, and he noticed a couple minor comments pass between the two of them.

Trowa was still withholding judgment on them for now, unsure that he had enough to go on yet. He was aware of Quatre's feelings for her, of course, and he would therefore do nothing that would imply that he had his reservations about the Lady. Reservations that were slowly being dismissed.

He had never felt that she was a threat to his friend, even with her reintroduction into his life after the war. At least not a physical threat. He had been inclined to assume that she wanted a way to apologize for her past, and he had been correct, eventually. He had found it odd that she had taken so long, but he was sure that Dorothy was not a woman to admit fault readily.

Trowa had worried over Quatre's reaction to her more than anything else. The other former pilot was such a kind-hearted person that the idea of not being able to help someone else would crush him just as much as if he had actually hurt them himself. And Trowa wasn't sure if Dorothy would take that help as an intrusion instead.

But she had surprised him. He had expected Quatre to have an influence on her, he always did, but he hadn't expected it to be reciprocal. Dorothy Catalonia was, of course, a very strong willed young woman. Perhaps he should have expected it.

It wasn't necessarily a notable difference, but Trowa knew his comrade quite well by now, and the subtle changes could be readily noticed if you looked hard enough. Quatre had grown, emotionally, to be a little bolder and a little less transparent.

At first, he hadn't taken that as a good sign, but with a deeper understanding he'd noticed something else taking a stronger hold on him… contentment.

It was a rather odd thought initially. Quatre still had a number of problems and concerns in his life that he just simply couldn't get around. Quatre Raberba Winner had always had a division in him. The desire to end the war and protecting those that he loved, had taken over his life, but he also needed to be the man that he was born to be, his inherited status weighing on him no matter where he went.

It was still a struggle inside of him, and Trowa knew it. The heir had more than a few nightmares to work through while trying to find his place in the void left by his father's death. He had never envied his friend's position, wealth or problems.

The Lady Catalonia would understand that. Possibly better than Trowa did. And that, he figured, was where the newfound confidence was coming from. Quatre had unwittingly found a confidant that shared more than a few of the same pressures and an understanding of an heir's role.

A smile tugged at his features high up on the wire above them. Quatre and Dorothy's fun little story about his stay with her for their social dinner had been amusing, but he knew a very different side to that same stay. His dear friend had been honestly overjoyed when they had spoken again after he returned.

Dorothy had worked up her courage to apologize, but that had been a simple footnote in his happy story, the man had never blamed her and Trowa knew why. But Quatre had been absolutely beaming that he'd been able to walk her through some of her emotions, had been able to help her, and had honestly connected with her.

It was their turning point. The nervous edge to Quatre whenever she was brought up faded away completely, the anxiety disappearing. In its place was a warm, friendly, and fun-loving relationship that was now easily displayed between them. More so than Trowa had realized until he'd seen them together.

Their ties were stronger than his friend had admitted to. Which was a rather amusing observation to begin with, since Quatre seemed a bit embarrassed of it. But the fact that Dorothy had made a specific point to turn to Quatre with whatever this latest problem in her life was, attested strongly to Trowa's belief that she had been changed as well. And, most of all, that her trust in him was real, which was what settled his mind.

Her affections were still a bit clouded to him though. In truth, they both were.

After the Mars trip and the trouble that they had found themselves in out there, it settled his fears that she would do, or even allow, anything to hurt his friend. The idea that the Maguanacs had all but adopted her afterwards also helped to demonstrate her place in the "family."

Dorothy Catalonia was a heart winner. And so far she'd been revealed as being very careful with those she touched.

The fact that Quatre had fully and completely taken her in was enough for Trowa to believe that he should do nothing less than the same. The blond was far better at these things anyway. However, Trowa was beginning to wonder just how long it would take before Quatre's affections for her grew into something that his other friends couldn't follow….

He watched Dorothy lean in to whisper something to Quatre, who broke a smile and nodded back to her for a reply.

She was good for him, he decided.

* * *

"It was an innocent question!"

"I don't want to hear it," he brushed her off, leading her through the grounds back towards Catherine and Trowa's trailer.

"Quatre, really. I know you're not mad at me," Dorothy pleaded as she followed after him.

This could be really fun if he kept this up for a couple months…. He mindlessly ducked under one of the support ropes for the main tent they were passing around, intent on trying not to laugh.

"I didn't say anything wrong, what are you so bent—Ow!"

The pained squeak pivoted him back to her, "Dorothy?"

"I'm fine," she reassured as he quickly moved back to her. "There seems to be a rope in my way," she mumbled instead, rubbing at a spot on her left arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he immediately apologized, realizing that he didn't warn her about the support rope.

"Quatre, would you quit it?" she mildly rebuked him. "There are very few things in this world that actually are your fault. Me being a klutz in not one of them."

He mentally sighed at her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she brushed it off before ducking under the rope too and quickly taking his arm. "But I thought you were mad at me," she purred.

"That doesn't mean I want to see you hurt," he tried, glancing away from her at the crowds of people leaving the area in the other direction.

"You're an awful liar," she accused.

"Most people would find that a good thing," he mumbled, leading her along again.

"Well, if I was 'most people' you wouldn't like me anymore."

"Could we give it a try?" he suggested. She laughed, softly slipping her arm out of his again, and through the dimly lit area he watched her rub at the spot once more. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I think I scratched myself," she waved it off. "Nothing to worry about."

"We'll take a look," he said anyway, taking her hand instead and leading her off once more.

"Have I ever mentioned what a sweetheart you are?"

He rolled his eyes, giving her a bitter glance backwards, even though she probably didn't see it. "Don't start."

"Start what?"

"Trying to sweet talk me," he grumbled.

She laughed and he really tried to keep the smirk off his face. "What are you so put out about? There was nothing bad in that comment."

"I'm just being emotionally unstable," he tossed back.

"Ah," she cooed. "Darling, did I hurt your feelings? Would you like me to check to see if Catherine thinks of you as a brother too?"

"No." Stopping them, he did look back at her though. "But I do still like you enough to warn you that comments like that will only get you in trouble with her. My overprotective side is nothing compared to hers."

"Oh, she likes me," she waved it off.

He turned and kept moving. "Not as a sister-in-law she doesn't."

"Quatre!" she admonished. "There is a very large difference between being cute and being of marriageable properties."

"Glad to know that."

"Fine," she huffed. Tired of being dragged along, she jogged up in front of him and lugged him after her instead. "I'll tell you what, you take off your shirt and I'll give you a full comparison."

"I don't want a comparison!" He shook his hand out of hers in disgust.

Her laugh didn't help him any, but she turned and stepped into his path. Her arms easily found their way around his neck as he inadvertently walked into her embrace, stopping him in his tracks. "Poor, sweet Quatre," she whispered. Leaning in, she met her cheek to his. "You're jealous."

"I am not," he stated forcefully. _I am too_, he mentally sighed.

There was a soft giggle before she gently nuzzled against his ear, the feeling no more than a whisper. But he very specifically balled his hands into fists at his sides, refusing to touch her… knowing better.

His emotions were tied up in more than a few knots tonight, and she was not helping him at the moment. Neither was the comment about Trowa, or her current attire, or the way she was snuggled against him, or the fact that her fingers were slipping slowly into the hair at the nape of his neck….

Crud.

Goosebumps raced down his arms and across his back, and he specifically stepped away from her, trying to dislodge her hold on him. It didn't work. Instead she merely took a step back with him, never letting him loose. "Are you trying to run away?" she asked, a fake note of hurt in her voice. "Am I intimidating you again?"

There was a smile to her voice that he didn't care for and he finally raised his hands to her sides, intent on pushing her back.

"I don't mean to." The purr of her voice held a note of good-humor and her arms moved to a sincere hold instead, giving him a tight hug.

The hold relaxed him instead, and he worked up the courage to wrap his arms around the gauzy material of her top, the silk of her hair layered over it.

"But you are jealous, aren't you?" she lightly accused.

"Of one of my best friends? Of course not," he scoffed.

She chuckled as her fingers caressed through his hair again, and he tried to hold down the shiver that the feeling always tried to send down his back. "You're still a bad liar," she whispered.

No, no, no, don't think that. "Why would I lie?" he tried instead

"You know you'll always be my favorite, right?" she whispered.

"Really?" he gave her a sarcastically hopeful plea… at least he hoped it sounded sarcastic.

Her chuckle softened, and she even pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Of course. I can't get anyone else to blush like you."

He rolled his eyes, "I'm so glad I can amuse you."

"You haven't seemed to mind," she purred into his ear.

That, coupled with the soft caress of her fingers through his hair just about got him to puddle out of her arms.

"Tell me you'll forgive me for being insensitive."

She could ask him to forgive her for blowing up half the galaxy with that tone of voice and he wouldn't be able to refuse her. "Of course," he softly returned, allowing himself to slip his hold a little tighter around her.

One hand lazily traced a pattern with her fingertips between his shoulder blades, the other was occupied at the back of his neck, and still she managed to creep in a bit closer. She was toying with him, he knew it, and he was absolutely sure that he didn't care. As far as her apologies went, this was a good one.

"Then you'll forgive me for being ungracious to you as well?"

"Yes," he hazily answered, closing his eyes as the rest of his senses took over.

"And you'll still care about me?" came the timid question. Her cheek tilted against his, and he felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheekbone.

"Always," he whispered, the futility of the question actually bringing him back to his senses… or maybe away from them. "You know that."

Dorothy gave him a content little hum before moving her head to lay her cheek against his shoulder, her nose brushing his neck over the collar. "Even if I make lewd comments about your friends?" she mildly giggled.

And that pretty much ended his happy little illusion. "That depends," he snipped instead.

"It was a simple question. Why are you so appalled that I, may, or may not have, somehow implied that I think he's cute?" she teased.

"I just don't want to know that you think he's cute," he stated matter-of-factly. Releasing his hold on her he tried to push her back.

"Oh, dearest," she nuzzled against his ear again, getting him to stop with just his hands at her sides once more. He physically slumped, his back and shoulders aching from the tension that he hadn't realized she was causing in him. "Why do you never listen to me when I tell you you're cute, but you take offense to this?"

"I never know when you're serious," he grumbled, finding that statement the sum of truth in their relationship.

She laughed and backed away to look up at him. "Well then, I'll be serious. Mr. Barton may have the whole 'mysteriously handsome' thing going for him, but you are honestly adorable." She brought a hand from his shoulder to pinch his cheek for emphasis.

And he stared at her incredulously. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?" The last remaining ounces of his ego, that he didn't even think he had left, hollowed out of him.

Dorothy blinked. "What's wrong with adorable?"

His hands dropped completely away from her in abandon. "Nothing… if you're six."

"But you are," she tried seriously.

Quatre finally managed an advantage and spun around to release himself from her hold before stalking off for the trailer again. "Of all of your poor excuses for comforting this is just…" he muttered to himself.

"What did I say? Quatre, wait!" she hurried after him. "That was supposed to be nice."

He stopped. "Nice?"

"I can't help it if that's what I think," came the complaint from behind him.

He gave a heartbroken sigh and continued on. "You really think of me as a little kid, don't you?" he accused. "I'm clingy, I'm unstable, I'm _little_ brotherly, and now I'm just adorable."

Her laughter followed along in his wake as he just internally cried. "And you take things way too personally," she finished. "I would never take offense if someone called me adorable."

He turned around mid-stride, almost making her run into him and having to back up a step. "But you're never called 'adorable,'" he confirmed. "You get beautiful, gorgeous, classy," he listed. Throwing his hands in the air he continued, "Or you walk through an office building once and you get dubbed 'the hot blond with the legs!' You never get 'adorable.'"

He must have gotten his point across because she stood unblinking in front of him for a second… before bursting out laughing like he had never seen before. She even raised both hands over her mouth and it still didn't muffle the laughter down enough.

And Quatre turned around and walked away, slipping up the makeshift step to Trowa's side of the trailer and walking in, tossing the door shut behind him.

* * *

"You called him what?"

Dorothy wiped at her eyes, still giggling insanely on the floor in the kitchen next to Trowa's side of the trailer.

Catherine gave her a hopeless look of abandon and banged on the door again. "Quatre, come on. She didn't mean it. Come out!"

The trailer's inside doors didn't even have locks. She had no idea how he'd gotten the thing stuck shut during Dorothy's attempt at apologizing… which she would admit the blond needed to work on.

"How was I supposed to know that he'd take offense to it?" she tried to state her case.

Catherine gave her a dumb look and shook her head. "What is he, six?"

"Thank you," came the comment from the opening door.

Catherine clasped both hands under her chin and gave Quatre her best smile. "Dorothy's really sorry and she wants to apologize. Why don't you come out?" she asked sweetly.

"I've heard," he mumbled. "When did you get finished?" he asked conversationally.

She blinked. "I came in at about the 'what do you expect with that much pink?' Personally, I think you look nice in pink."

"Oh, then you missed the 'pretty' discussion," Dorothy mumbled.

Not turning from the captive resident Catherine gave him a smile and muttered, "Shut up, Dorothy," through clenched teeth.

He sighed, opening the door wider to look at her. He stared down at her as she gazed up at him with doe eyes. "I wasn't ignoring you…." Rethinking that he started over. "Alright, I was ignoring you initially. But I got a phone call from Rasid and… I think I'm thankful that I missed the pink comments, again," he muttered holding up his phone for emphasis.

"Oh," she gave him a pout. "I liked my reasoning this time too."

Catherine blinked. "This is a normal conversation?" she asked. She knew they were strange, but really….

"She was offended by something pink as a child, I'm sure of it," Quatre explained, leaning in the doorway.

"I was not," she stated rising to her feet. "I just think that such an attractively masculine form such as yourself shouldn't be shrouded in such a feminine color, that's all." And she did it with a straight face.

She tried, she really did, but Catherine just could not hold back her laughter from an explanation like that. She covered her mouth with her hands and looked over at Quatre's sour expression. "I'm sorry," she got out between giggles.

Sighing, he visually wilted. "I don't want to be in this conversation. I don't even care."

Catherine sweetly took his arm beside her and laid her head on his shoulder. "I still think you're cute," she reassured.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Hey!" Dorothy whined. "I never, ever, said that you weren't cute," she defended.

She shook her head at the blond. "Dorothy, adorable is just not a nice way to put it for a guy."

She rolled her eyes and turned away. "I didn't think I needed to break out my aristocratic 'politeness' to appease your ego," she muttered.

"What ego," he sighed, the poor man was crestfallen.

"Come on, Quatre," Catherine cooed back to him. "We all know you're cute. She was just being funny." She slipped around and pulled his hands in front of him, trying to tug him out into the kitchen.

"No, I really think adorable fits perfectly."

Turning over her shoulder she glared at the other woman.

Dorothy shrugged, "What? What would you call him?"

She turned back to the poor man, finding him turned away and—blushing? Oh, this could be fun. "I'd say he falls much more into the attractive range," she stated instead, switching tactics.

"Attractive is too broad," Dorothy stated, coming over to stand at her side as the two scrutinized him.

"Please, let me go," he hopelessly asked as she kept his hands held in hers.

"But adorable just seems too young," she ignored him.

Dorothy calmly picked up on the idea, wandering around to slip behind him, her arms coming over his shoulders. The move sufficiently closed him in, getting him to cringe with his blush still in place. "But he's just got this perpetually innocent look to him. It's sweet," she cooed, snuggling into his neck.

Catherine mused a moment. "That could be part of the pink thing, though," she said appraising his current shirt.

"See I think so too," they nodded to each other as he dropped his head with a sigh.

"Please, I don't care, just let me go," he softly pleaded.

"I like the pastels on you, but you should really try some darker colors," she suggested, moving in since Dorothy was holding him easier now.

"Red is a very good color on you," the blond agreed.

"No black though," Catherine stated firmly.

"Oh, no," the other agreed. "Unless it's a jacket. You should really use some blues and teals, bring out your eyes."

"Ah, yes. Totally a best feature," she grinned, watching the blush only grow brighter on his drooped face.

Dorothy began a slow massage of his shoulders from behind him and Catherine tried not to bust out laughing again.

"I still stand by my assessment though," Dorothy stated.

"Now, that falls somewhere between cute and handsome?" she asked conversationally.

Dorothy mused a moment, "More like even with good-looking. But you've got the whole charming aspect in there too."

"So we're headed more for appealing," Catherine stated.

"Oh, that's nice," Dorothy nodded. "What do you think, dear? Is appealing a better word?"

"I really just don't want to know," he whispered with a shake of his head. "I don't care."

Catherine gave her accomplice a raised eyebrow, something finally clicking. "This is still about earlier isn't it?"

Dorothy nodded, whispering over his shoulder, "He's jealous."

"I am not!" he snapped up at them.

She giggled at the reaction. "Ah. But jealous of Trowa, or jealous that you said something," she winked.

"Neither!" he interjected again, getting his hands out of hers.

"Oh, I hope it's the second one," Dorothy gave her a grimace.

"Let go of me!" he shouted over them instead. Turning he got his partner's hands off of his shoulders and stared her down. "I, am, not," he stated distinctly.

"Oh," she cooed, looking innocently up at him, lacing her hands behind her back, but still blocking his way into the room. "We haven't even accounted for that cute blush factor yet," she said stepping in.

It only made him back up, which ran him right into Catherine as she took a hold on his right arm and looped her other arm around his waist. Dorothy would honestly have to give her newfound partner a lot of credit. By herself she never would have been able to hold him this long. And with him stuck in the doorway, he had no room to maneuver.

"You know, maybe adorable is a good choice," the brunette added, settling her chin on his shoulder.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he quietly complained, trying to lean away from his captor. "I just try to be nice."

Dorothy slipped up, locking him in between them, and casually slipping her hands to land on his chest. "Dearest, we're just trying to help you."

"I want help alright."

"You know what I think," Catherine ventured. "It's the vests. They're just too stuffy for your personality."

And Dorothy's eyes lit up with the most evil idea she had ever had in all her life. "No…" she smiled, "it's just this top button."

* * *

Trowa walked through the back area as the main tent's lights went out, denoting that they were finished with cleanup for the night. Catherine must have already headed back to their guests, which was fine. Her workload after the show was light anyway.

He casually stepped up to open Catherine's door when the sound of the girls' laughter alerted him that the group was on his side of the trailer this evening instead. Those two could really be trouble together…. There was a smile in his eyes as he slipped over to push his door open instead.

And he froze right along with everyone else in the room.

He stared down at the group as the three lay sprawled out on the floor. Quatre currently looked at him upside down from being flat on his back, topped by the two girls who were variously kneeling or laying over him, his hands around one each of the girls' wrists. His shirt was half un-tucked and the top two buttons had come undone.

Very possibly that was Dorothy's work, since she had a hold on his shirt front, and only held herself up with a hand on his chest. Catherine was knelt beside him as well, currently wearing the vest that he'd had on during the performance over her t-shirt. All three gave him guilty looks of surprise at his entry.

"Uh…" Quatre was the only one who even tried.

Trowa took a longer look over the group than he found he actually wanted to before silently stepping back out the door and closing it securely behind him.

* * *

"No one has a finer command of language than the person who keeps his mouth shut." - Sam Rayburn

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	14. Chapter 14

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 14

"I can explain…I don't want to, but I can."

"Alright."

Quatre nervously watched Trowa cross his arms over his chest as he leaned against the chair, facing him on the couch. He, very sheepishly, looked up at the taller man's face, trying to avoid feeling like his father had just caught him fooling around with the girl next door… girls next—whatever.

Sighing, he slumped down, putting his elbows on his knees and staring at the carpet in front of him. "You were supposed to say you don't want to know," he tried.

"I don't," came the always-calm reply. "I just want to hear you explain it."

Quatre had to know the guy as well as he did to hear the joke in his voice. As it was, he still broke a bitter laugh at it. "Would it help if I promised I didn't start it?"

"Not at all."

Again, he smiled at his friend's reaction, although he wondered if that looked more like a cringe.

After Trowa had walked out on them Catherine had hurriedly called him back, none of them exactly sure what their silent fourth would do. In all honesty, he'd done nothing. Simply waiting until the two girls slunk off to their own rooms, presumably to think about what they'd done. And Quatre had taken a seat on the couch, waiting for his verdict.

"Would it help if I promised that it wasn't what it looked like?" he asked instead, still not raising his eyes.

"No."

He sighed, "It wasn't my fault. They ganged up on me," he accused.

"Quatre, haven't you learned better by now?"

"I can't even handle Dorothy on her own, let alone two of them."

"And what were they… trying to do?"

Quatre heard the pause and finally looked up at the other with a sour expression. "They were 'trying' to give me fashion advice. I think," he added, knowing that didn't explain why they were "trying" to remove his clothing.

"By starting from the base up?"

Finally there was a hint of a laugh to the other's voice and Quatre lost his hold on his own. "I don't know," he cried instead.

Very softly the front door beside him opened just a crack and an arm slipped through, depositing his vest that Catherine had somehow made off with earlier, back on the arm of the couch. Then the door softly shut again, the person sneaking away.

The two stared at the unsuspicious piece of clothing until Quatre couldn't help but break out an embarrassed chuckle.

Trowa casually walked over and picked the item up and handed it back to him. "I would have expected you to put up a better fight than that."

Quatre snatched the gray vest back from him, knowing he was being—silently—laughed at. "I doubt you'd do better," he grumbled.

"Dorothy still seems to be pushing your buttons."

He gave the other a groan for the bad pun, leaning back into the couch. "Of course she does. She knows me too well by now."

"Hm." Quatre looked up at him as the other stepped over next to him. He blinked as he watched Trowa pick a strand of hair off his shoulder for him. A silvery strand of blond a little over four feet long. "Probably true," he commented.

He softly gave him a chuckle at the sight of the hair. "You'll be finding those for about a month."

Trowa turned a softly knowing look to him before releasing the hair onto the floor.

Turning away he made no comment, but the look had been enough for Quatre. "What was that for?" he quietly asked.

His friend stopped only to look back at him. "She's been good for you, hasn't she?"

Quatre took that as a very strange question, especially considering what he'd just walked in on. Putting that aside, he gave Trowa a confused expression. "I suppose."

There was a soft expression to his eyes and Quatre wasn't exactly sure what it meant. "Why choose now to bring her with you?"

That was a very loaded question, and he suddenly had a suspicion why his friend had a good-natured sparkle to him. Sobering, he blinked and averted his eyes. "She needed it."

In truth, there were a lot of reasons that he'd asked her to come. That one just happened to be the most prevalent.

Trowa walked back and took a seat in the chair opposite him, apparently settling in for the story that he didn't actually have to ask for Quatre to tell. He stared at the floor, but he could feel the knowing emerald eyes watching him, and waiting. Trowa had the patience of a rock, and he knew that unless he spilled, he wouldn't let this go.

It didn't pay to make Trowa curious about something.

"I'm not sure how much of this she'd really want me to say," he began. He watched his friend nod softly, understanding that this conversation didn't leave this room. Not that he would have any fear of that from this particular friend, but she had told Quatre her story in confidence and he would not break that trust.

Instead he gave Trowa a rough outline, leaving out the specifics and the names, and basically related that she had come to him heartbroken and emotionally battered. He explained that she had returned to the chateau, which was an effort for her in itself, had been struck by the comments of a section of Romafeller's former members, and had then been confronted by a… former suitor.

He wasn't quite sure what else to call Andrew.

If the story fazed him, Trowa didn't show it. But then he always had a much more level head than Quatre did. He sat with his chin propped up, his legs crossed casually, still listening, still waiting.

Quatre mentally sighed and then moved to half lie down on the couch. If he was going to be a psychiatry patient he might as well act the part. "When you called this week, I made the mention of you to her," he continued. "It sort of… well, it led back to _Libra _again," he confided. Looking over he flashed his friend a smile. "I think you intimidate her."

Trowa blinked, "How's that?"

Quatre chuckled and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know, but I wish you gave lessons." Brushing that aside, he settled back into the pillow and the blankets that were still folded on the edge of the couch. "I figured with every other part of her past coming up to haunt her, maybe it would do some good if she confronted someone that would be a little gentler to her."

"She did nothing to me," he casually explained.

Quatre let the smile slip into place at the comment. No, Trowa had never blamed her for what happened. He'd understood, the same as Quatre had, that emotions could force the hand of even the kindest person. If his beloved friend could forgive him for what he had done, it would be nothing at all to see through Dorothy's actions.

"You saved her life, Trowa. At least that's how she thinks of us." He let the warmth of the statement take a hold on him, knowing again that what he had gone through wasn't for nothing. He'd been able to help someone else with it. "She feels like she owes us something."

"Hm," he considered.

Quatre blinked, and turned to look over at him, expecting a little more than that. But still Trowa returned his gaze, still waiting for something. "What?" he finally asked.

"That didn't answer my question."

Quatre pushed himself most of the way up again, giving him a confused look. "Why I asked her to come with me?" he clarified. "I just figured it would help."

"And?" Again, Trowa waited.

Quatre blinked at him, shrugging. "And what?" When he didn't offer anything Quatre turned, thinking of the swirl of emotions that passed through him when he held her earlier this week before he asked her to come. "…And I guess I wanted the time to make sure that she was all right," he added.

"Ah." He paused, "And?"

Again he gave the other a funny look. "What do you want me to say?"

Trowa's one visible eye narrowed slightly as he scrutinized him. "You're not telling me everything."

"Huh?" Great, now he was so transparent that Trowa knew he was hiding something when he himself didn't. He mildly slumped and turned away again to think. Again he returned to his feelings that night, wondering what Trowa had picked up on during their stay here. "I figured she could use the distraction."

Still no response.

He sighed, turning to his more recent feelings, and then letting a few things click. Unfortunately, they weren't necessarily things he wanted to get into… with anyone. Setting his jaw, he swallowed, and then sat up straight on the couch again. "I didn't want her to go back."

"Why?"

Quatre mulled it over, and then looked up to meet the other's eyes. "I know she'll try to go back to him. She feels she needs to explain herself."

An eyebrow rose just enough to say that he'd piqued his curiosity again. "And you don't agree?"

"In a way, I do," he admitted. "He was a friend to her before, and she really doesn't seem to hold it against him. She just knows that he's hurt, and she still feels that she's responsible."

"But you don't think she should see him?"

He looked away, feeling ashamed and spiteful all at the same time. "I don't want her to be hurt again."

Nothing. Again, he knew that Trowa was still waiting.

Quatre leaned forward once more, setting his elbows on his knees and staring down at the floor between his feet. "It's shaken her badly, Trowa. She's started questioning what she's done in the last two years. Her confidence has been…" he paused remembering today at the picnic table, and then taking a quick look his own shirt. "Actually, her confidence seems to be doing much better now."

"And you think this guy will make her feel worse if she talks to him again."

"Yes." It was an automatic response, except that when his brain caught up with him again, he had to remember what she kept trying to insist throughout this week. "…No."

"Which is it?"

He sighed and raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck and the hair that always tried to stand on end when he thought back to these conversations. "She's said that she honestly doesn't believe he even knows that he hurt her. And maybe he was just to the point where he couldn't get it off his chest any other way. I don't know. But I just…." He finally met the other's eyes. "I don't want her to take the chance."

"You can't decide that for her," he cautiously stated.

"I know I can't," Quatre whispered back. "I can't do anything more for her either, and it's…" he shook his head, knowing it was true. "It tears me apart to realize that."

"You don't want her to leave at all."

"I don't want her to leave at all," he confirmed. Taking a good look at his state of dress he smiled. "Although, after today, I may need to rethink that."

Trowa gave him a rare chuckle for the comment. Quatre rose to his feet to quickly tuck his shirt hem back in but then decided it wasn't worth buttoning again. Lying back out on the couch he kept thinking that his feelings in this were wrong, but not knowing why exactly.

"You're going to have to let her go, Quatre. She's not the type to appreciate being watched after."

That was the sage advice that he was waiting for. "I know." Staring up at the ceiling again he tried to back down the bitterness that turned his stomach. "I just can't get over this. And the thing that bothers me is that I can't get over not wanting her… anywhere else."

"What do you mean?"

He turned enough to give him a look. "I don't know what that means," he confided. "I keep trying to sort it out. It's like I don't trust anyone else with her anymore. Like I don't think someone else is good enough. Where does that come from?" he asked, actually hoping that he'd get an answer.

"You want her to need you."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for. Turning back to the ceiling he mentally slapped himself. "When did I get so conceited?" he spat, frustrated with himself.

Trowa gave him a real laugh, and Quatre figured that at least his friend was amused with this. "Only you would find that conceited."

He groaned and sat back upright, using his arms to support him. "What else am I supposed to call it? I know better than to try to be possessive of her. It's just… dumb." There really wasn't a better word for it than that.

"It's not like you to fight this so hard."

Looking over he found that Trowa still hadn't moved, but the hint of a smirk on his face absolutely befuddled him. "What?"

"You haven't told her this," he accused.

"Of course not," he threw back at him. "Excuse me Dorothy, would you mind if I locked you in a room for the rest of your life?" He gave him an incredulous look and noticed that the smirk had only gotten more visible.

"You haven't told her that you want to be more to her."

He stopped, honestly confused. "More than what?"

Trowa closed his eyes, the smirk still in place. "You want to mean more to her than anyone else does."

Quatre stared at him a moment, feeling his stomach sink. Suddenly he knew exactly where Trowa was going with this, and what that little sparkle in his eye had meant earlier. They weren't really talking about the same thing. "No I don't," he whispered, defending himself.

Trowa looked up at him again. "You don't?"

"No, I—" he swallowed, "I can't."

"Can't?" the eyebrow raised again.

His feelings swirled around through his heart, nothing but a mixed up bunch of images and flashes of insight. Nothing stood out, and it didn't make sense. And it didn't amount to what Trowa was thinking it did. "I can't think of her in a… _romantic_ way," he got out.

There was no comment and no movement from the chair in front of him as Quatre stared at the floor again. Trowa was waiting, once more his patience taking over.

And for once it wasn't helping him. He did not want to get into this, didn't even want to remember it.

But at the same time, maybe it needed to be said. "I know her feelings, Trowa. Even before this happened. Dorothy would never…" he broke, not knowing how to explain this to him. Closing his eyes, he started over. "She's scared to death of hurting me. And as a Romafeller she really believes that anything between us would only reflect back on me."

"Because of the war?"

Quatre scooted back around once more, sitting straight. "Because of the Colonies," he corrected. "Because I'm a Winner. Because up here she has no more credit than to be a Dermail and therefore she can't be trustworthy. And to the Foundation I'm just an ungrateful Colonist."

"The Foundation is dead," he tried.

He gave Trowa a humorless smile. "The Foundation lives in the hearts and memories of her people… and everyone that hates it," he snorted. "Just like I'm nothing more than a hormone-driven teenager that has jumped into bed with Romafeller. Literally, if you believe the gossip."

"_Romafeller and Winner, doesn't that just bite you in the ass."_

He had no idea how many times that single line could haunt him. But without ever overhearing that conversation, he really wouldn't have understood Dorothy's reservations about being too close, or about being cautious with what they released about her—

Trowa's hand dropped away from supporting his chin, and Quatre looked up to meet his eyes. His little moment of self-pity was cut short by the hard edge to the other's expression, finding that he'd seen that look very few times. And he didn't remember it ever being directed at him since the first time they'd met. "I wouldn't have thought you would let something like that make up your mind for you."

"I'm not," he defended forcefully. "But I can't put her feelings aside. And Dorothy has, very specifically, drawn the line."

Trowa's expression smoothed out to worry instead, although Quatre knew he really didn't mean to show it. "She's afraid."

Quatre let his expression slide into worry as well. "Yes. And after this thing with Andrew, I don't even want to know what she'd do if someone brought the topic up again."

"Andrew?"

He sighed, realizing he wasn't planning to give specific names originally. "Andrew Varnhem," he clarified.

Trowa blinked. "Varnhem? He's Romafeller too?" he asked.

Quatre nodded, a bit surprised. "Yes. Heir to their no-longer-valid membership, I guess."

"Related to Admiral Varnhem?" he quietly asked.

"Grandson," he answered from Dorothy's description, giving him an odd look. "Do you know of him?"

Trowa thoughtfully turned away. "I heard the name a couple times during the war."

The silence hung between them for a small eternity as the two both lost themselves in memory. Neither usually attempted to dwell on such things, but it was a little easier with someone else, a little safer to let the mind wander back to the old battles.

Together, they weren't so alone.

Through the cold fog that always seemed to come with bad memories, the two heard the muffled sound of laughter. Turning, they both looked over at the separation wall between the two trailer sides as the sound of the girls found its way through.

A smile tugged at his lips, and Quatre let it. "What would we do without them?" he quietly asked.

Trowa rose from his seat and silently slipped over to the wall, placing a gentle hand on it as the sound continued, broken here and there with whatever they were doing. "No matter what is between the two of you," he turned back to look Quatre in the eye, "don't let her go. Finding someone that you can trust with your past is… helpful."

Quatre smiled at the choice of words, knowing that Catherine had been more than just a friend, and maybe even more than a sister, to him. They both knew the benefit of having someone that already knew their pasts, and still cared for them. Trowa had his family here, and Quatre had the Maguanacs.

But there was something very different about the concern of a woman. Quatre was slowly discovering that. "I won't," he promised.

There was still one more reason why he had asked Dorothy to come here with him, but one that he was sure the other knew already. Quatre had needed his friend's approval of her. No matter how strange or flawed the idea was, he honestly wanted to know that Trowa accepted her as well. And he had just gotten that.

He watched with a smile as the other turned away towards his bedroom. "And Quatre…."

"Yeah?" he rose to his feet to start setting up his bed.

"Stay away from my sister."

* * *

"There comes a time in your life when everything falls apart and you need someone to put it back together again, because you can't do it yourself. To be put back together is to find peace of mind with your heart again. Once that is done, you are functioning as a whole again. Don't ever let go of the person that put you together, they are more important than you know." – Unknown.

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	15. Chapter 15

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 15

Quatre sat in one of the back pews of the massive church, attempting to keep track of the number of questions floating through his mind. Dorothy knelt beside him as a song played over the pipe organ and the rest of the church filed orderly up to the front and then back again.

He had offered to accompany her to her Sunday service yesterday when she had checked for Mass times, and she had happily agreed. Quatre had attended with her once before, when he stayed at her lakeside home. He was sure that he'd surprised her then when he had requested to tag along, but it was one of the few ways they could find some common ground to talk about religion with. Neither knew enough about the other's faith to even begin a conversation.

Dorothy was currently working on rejoining the Catholic Church that had been her childhood faith. She had told him that she had stopped attending when her mother died, since her grandfather wasn't much of a church-goer apparently. When she had relocated to Lago Bonito, she had been welcomed and invited back again by the small town's priest and she had found a reason to return.

Still in formation with the Church, Dorothy didn't follow the rest to the front, and instead stayed next to him and continued her prayers. He had been amazed really at the reverence she showed when he had managed to tag along with her. In truth, it was what he was hoping to see again when he had made his offer yesterday. She was different here, at peace, and he could feel that.

At some point, Commander Sada'ul had happily made an observation to him during one of his quiet times at the Maguanac base. He had told him that Allah gave men three things of pure beauty to remind them of paradise. One was a woman in prayer, one was a woman in love, and one was a woman with her child in her arms. The three greatest forms of love on Earth. Quatre had known of course what the joyful, fatherly figure had meant, but it came into focus for him when he was here beside her.

And Dorothy had an interesting group back home to guide her through whatever it was she needed to learn. The priest, Father Rumser, was a bit of an odd character. The man was elderly, probably nearing seventy, but very quick-witted, and both eager and willing to tease his "flock" at any chance.

Quatre had met the short, white-haired, little man casually as Dorothy was giving him the tour of the town during his stay, which was only a walking trip down one main street. At first he found it odd to find someone dressed very similar to Duo, but had found that this man really was a Roman priest.

The two had met him on the sidewalk outside of the little church as the man was returning to his house next door. Dorothy had introduced them as the shorter man squinted at him up and down. He had been more than a little shocked when the first words out of the priest's mouth were, "Ah! And what religion are you, Son?" Poor Dorothy had rolled her eyes and shaken her head.

Apparently the man was not exactly prepared to hear him say Muslim, because Quatre finally saw chocolate brown eyes widen out from under the bushy, white eyebrows.

Looking up at Dorothy beside him, the man had shaken his head with a sigh. "Always the difficult one. Forty-odd years and I've never con-celebrated one of those before."

At the time, Quatre had had no idea what he meant or why she had jumped immediately into berating this poor, elderly man for what seemed to him like a mild comment. He'd quickly caught on when Dorothy had waved her arms around and yelled, "I'm not marrying him!" The man replied that he had simply wanted to be prepared in case he needed to perform the ceremony.

After the extensive bantering in the middle of the sidewalk, he had discovered that Dorothy had drawn a small crowd as three nuns peered curiously over the fence that surrounded the church's yard. The three had quietly watched, whispering to each other now and again as Quatre tried valiantly to ease her temper down, or at least her voice, as the two continued back and forth.

Eventually he'd been introduced to Sister Regina, the eldest, probably in her late fifties who was also the organ player for their church. Sister Rita, who was a motherly, chubby woman whose smile he could never help but return. And Miss Christine, the "novice," he believed she was called as she hadn't finished her vows yet. Probably only a few months older than Dorothy, she was a beautiful young lady who always tended to blush when Father Rumser teased her over something.

The four of them were Dorothy's official religion teachers, and her mentors. And Quatre couldn't help but smile at the thought of them now. The group had stood, literally, for hours in the warm afternoon sunshine talking and picking on her about this or that, and pausing to talk to anyone else who came by. Obviously, she had made quite an impression on the group, and they favored her with a number of cute teases. Many of which were on her vocal talents that she now brought to their choir, secretly another reason he had wanted to come with her today.

Eventually they had escaped from the group as they returned to her house to prepare for their trip to the Beneficiary's Dinner. When asked about her voice lessons, she had tried to laugh it off, and when finally pressed, admitted that she had suffered through three years of vocal training by her grandfather's command. Quatre had still never managed to get her to sing something just for him, but he'd caught her humming a few times.

It was only that next morning when he'd gotten to hear her sing beside him. But it was hard to concentrate on just her voice in her hometown's tiny little church. Especially when everyone there was curiously eyeing him as he let her guide him through the sit and stand routine just as he was doing now.

He had actually never seen as many elderly women give him the once over as he had that morning. But he had brushed it off as being the only stranger in a very small town. And on their way out of the church, the priest had gotten Dorothy to bristle once more when he said he would be sure to find a part-Muslim service for her… just in case.

Quatre had only laughed, finding it extremely funny that this holy little man kept getting the best of her, even if it was also partially at his expense. He was sure that simple fact was part of the reason she was rejoining her faith, and he could only applaud her. Even with everything she had been through, he saw peace in her here, and that was something he longed to see in her again.

Perhaps he should start thinking about trying to truly return to his own faith again….

The rest of the people around them had finished their usual march to the front and had all returned to their seats. He still didn't get the concept, or why she didn't join them yet, but he figured someday he would try to figure it out. On some sort of cue that he didn't notice, the whole church sat back from their kneeling positions, Dorothy settling back beside him as well.

Remembering there being a short, quiet moment just before the end, he simply waited, trying to remember again the questions he wanted to ask her. Quatre was shaken out of his thoughts as Dorothy gently reached over and took his hand on his knee, her fingers tucking softly around his. He looked over to find her giving him a warm smile before looking away again, continuing her private thoughts.

He blinked, wondering what he'd done to deserve that, but happily gave her hand a squeeze for the effort before he let her continue concentrating. Just something to make him feel more comfortable, he assumed, but it brought a smile to his lips as he sat close beside her.

Their differences had never been that hard to overcome. Dorothy wasn't one to dwell much on things, and he considered himself to be an accepting person. It made times like these fairly easy to deal with, and he honestly felt comfortable with her during their serious times.

Why then, was it so hard to think about breaking the topic of "them?" He had spent most of last night thinking about Trowa's accusation that he was letting others' opinions make up his mind for him. Quatre had always, forcefully, denied that to himself. He would do anything not to let that happen.

But wasn't that exactly what he was doing?

He wanted to believe that he was following Dorothy's wishes, and he was sure that he was, but who was she following? She was worried about what would happen, he knew that. And he knew that he couldn't just brush off those concerns. No matter why they were there, they were hers, and he wouldn't ignore her protests.

In all truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to say anything to her anyway. The idea that he "wanted to mean more to her than anyone else does" was a bit… frightening. Not that he would confess that to her.

He liked their relationship. He enjoyed their bantering, her teasing, and her odd sense of… everything. And, even after yesterday, he was still going to miss her when she left this afternoon. He felt safe with what was between them now. Ruining it with delusions of forbidden romance wasn't something he had any desire for.

He wasn't going to gain anything by ignoring her feelings. There was no reason he couldn't simply wait and see what happened on its own. It was probably the cowardly way out, but especially after this episode with Andrew, he wasn't going to start spouting words of undying love and proposing they go find her Father Rumser to see if he'd found a ceremony for them.

The church once again rose to their feet, and Quatre needed the distraction to keep the laugh down. No, he'd come to his own understanding. Right now, he just wanted to know that Dorothy was safe and all right, and that she would eventually forget about Andrew Varnhem.

Silently praying for strength to forgive that man, even though he had actually done no harm to him, he hoped that Allah could hear him from in here.

…Would that technically classify him as a rebound if they did begin something? That wasn't a thought he appreciated.

* * *

"Back to Europe?" Catherine asked as Dorothy double-checked her suitcase.

"Yes. But I plan on dropping in on a few friends too. Miss Relena was kind enough to offer an invitation for me to stay with her a few days, and I think I may take her up on it."

Catherine gasped as her eyes lit up. "You know Relena Darlian?"

Dorothy set her case next to her other one beside the door before turning an odd expression back to her. "I seem to be getting to know her more and more these days."

"Oh, that'd be so great!" the other woman sighed to herself.

Dorothy turned a look back to Quatre, who sat on the couch, and Trowa, who stood beside it, leaning against the wall. "I take it she hasn't had the pleasure?" she asked him.

Trowa shook his head no.

"Neither of us have," Catherine added.

Dorothy noticed Quatre start at that comment too as they both turned to Trowa. "You haven't?" he asked.

Trowa mildly met his eyes, "Not personally."

She blinked, "You realize that we can correct that at any time, right?"

"Really?" Catherine happily interjected.

"I'm sure there will be a reason someday," Trowa stated instead.

"Probably a wedding if nothing else," she snickered, loving the thought of grilling the woman for a progress report.

"Dorothy," Quatre admonished, "you shouldn't tease her."

Rolling her eyes, she waved it off before walking around to take a seat beside him. "Don't tell me I'm the only one that's curious. Besides, she's been skirting the issue for months now."

"There's probably a reason for that."

"Wait. Who? Where?" Catherine looked confused between all of them.

"Special Agent Heero Yuy of the Preventers. Head of security for, now, both home and away missions for our dear Vice Minister," Dorothy explained.

Quatre blinked. "When did he take over her house operations?"

Dorothy chuckled happily to herself. "When the former mission commander started to take a not-so-nice interest in our stoic little friend."

"How much time have you spent around Duo?" Trowa asked from beside them.

Quatre sighed. "Don't set her off."

"Wait!" Catherine had been trying to get a word in edge-wise the whole time and finally got their attention. "You mean cranky old 'who's stupid idea was self-destructing again' Heero?" she glared up at Trowa.

The two blonds turned to regard the quiet man as he passively looked back at her. "I don't think he'd appreciate that title."

"What is Relena Darlian doing with him?" she cried.

"They're friends," Quatre tried.

"She's in love with him," Dorothy corrected. All three of them turned back to her and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."

"Don't put words in their mouths, Dorothy," Quatre scowled at her. "It'll be hard enough for them."

"We'll see," she brushed it aside.

"No… way…" Catherine was just beside herself.

Leaning over to Quatre, Dorothy whispered, "When did she meet him?"

Quatre opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped and started again with a quick glance at Trowa over her shoulder. "After he self-detonated in Siberia. He was hidden here."

Dorothy blinked. "Oh."

"Thankless jerk…" Catherine muttered.

Trowa absently shook his head. "He wasn't in the best spirits, Catherine."

"Hmph."

Dorothy just laughed at them and Quatre sighed, returning to the topic. "Was there something special she asked you to come for?"

She shook her head. "No, just a standing invitation. Besides, I haven't been to see Lady Une and dear cousin in a while either."

Quatre gave her a confused look. "I didn't realize you knew Commander Une."

"Romafeller connections," she nodded. "Although I can't say I cared much for her before. Feeling seemed to be mutual though," she mused. "However, little MarieMaia seems to be a good influence on her."

Quatre vaguely nodded, but from the other side Trowa interjected. "MarieMaia is your cousin?"

She moved to look back at him. "Treize's daughter, of course. See, we're practically family," she winked at him, although she fully understood that Trowa's name was the only thing related to the child's mother.

"That's who you meant?" Quatre asked, taken aback.

She blinked. "You didn't realize that Treize was my second cousin? I'm going to have to draw you a family tree," she teased.

He stared at her a moment. "You really are related to everyone in the Foundation, aren't you?"

Dorothy laughed it off. "Only a forth of them. The Foundation has eight main parts. The seven major families, and the eighth which is made up by the smaller families and the new-comers," she patiently explained. "Grandmother was a Krushrenada. Her youngest brother was Treize's father."

"Making him the Duke's nephew," he clarified.

"They never got along well," she added. "Dearest Treize tended to make the wrong people angry with him. One of a number of things we had in common."

"You knew him very well then, didn't you?" Quatre softly asked, and Dorothy silently closed her eyes at the comment.

"_How dare you disgrace yourself and your family like that! What do I have to do to you to keep that mouth of yours shut?" Grandfather was furious, but not nearly as much as she was. The elder man paced back and forth behind his desk in front of her, seething in irritation._

_It wasn't the first time, and Dorothy knew it wouldn't be the last. At all of the age of eleven, she was through being 'considerate' and 'quiet' in front of these idiotic men who ran rampant through the house bellowing and bickering amongst themselves over anything. She was sick to death of being fawned over and talked down to as they would to their hunting dogs._

_Her grandfather balled a hand into a fist and pounded it down onto the desk before whipping around to stare out the window, refusing to look at her any longer. Dorothy had no fear of physical violence from the man, he would never lay a hand on her, but just the same the display was untypical for the family monarch. Unfazed, she opened her mouth to retort his words, to lash out in her own defense._

"_Not a word," came a quick whisper from the corner of the room behind her. She turned sharply to stare at Treize, who stood calmly as always, their meeting having been interrupted when her grandfather had her hauled in before him._

_She hated to be hushed, but clamped her jaw shut in front of these men. Turning back, she let herself smolder as her grandfather rambled more, and then dismissed her outright, turning and pointing her out the door. Just to be spiteful, she curtsied before leaving the room._

_She marched off, and as she usually did, she went to take her frustrations out on the fencing dummy, attacking until her legs were sore. On the last run, she moved to stab at the heart of the beat up thing, only to have her move blocked by another foil._

"_Aggression doesn't suit you, child," Treize stated, holding her blade from making contact on the cloth covered frame. "You must learn not to undervalue your gifts."_

_Dorothy disengaged and turned away. "I apparently have a gift for being nothing but a 'disgrace,'" she fumed._

"_Come then, take that out on me," he challenged._

_Spinning back she attacked without warning or hesitation, knowing that she was nowhere near her cousin's fighting prowess, but wanting desperately to take that confident smirk off his face. He blocked her easily, never attacking on his own, which only enraged her more that he was toying with her._

_Their bout didn't last long as he spiraled his foil around hers, twisting it out of her hand and bringing the capped tip directly to the hollow of her throat. She stood, unflinching, staring straight up at him with narrowed eyes. The smirk gave way to a shallow chuckle. "So much anger in someone so innocent."_

_The comment only balled her hands into fists at her sides._

"_Little cousin, you must learn to behave better."_

"_So I can please my beloved grandfather?" she snipped._

"No," he smiled, lowering the practice blade. "So that you can stop getting yourself kicked out of the place you so long to be in." Dorothy faltered. "That tongue will have its uses, but you'll find it is less of a friend to you than you may think." He stepped in and gently wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, looking down at her with a smile. "Your ears, however, will speak much louder."

_Dorothy gazed up at one of the only men in her life that she honestly respected. But she still opened her mouth to refute him._

_Once again he beat her to it, raising an eyebrow. "You see? You're much too quick to put in your opinion." She sighed heavily, closing her lips again. "Words will only get your point across when someone is willing to listen. You, child, have yet to discover the value of a tender ear."_

_Slipping away, he picked up her foil and tossed it back to her. "Do not try so hard to change your birthright. Being a woman here is not a burden, it is an open doorway." Turning around he walked away. "Learn to listen, and they will ask you to speak."_

It had taken time to understand those words, and truth be told she still had a ways to go, but she had managed to make her way by them. With the men of the council especially, she would listen, whether they knew she was there or not. And when they wanted a sounding board, she sat, and she listened. And dearest Treize was right, when they had finally run out of words, they asked for hers….

"He counseled me through a number of things when I was younger, and I attempted to return the favor," she replied looking back over at him.

Quatre blinked, "Return the favor?"

Dorothy let a smirk slip into place. "The Romafeller senate had a nasty habit of bringing up his… indiscretions."

She watched his ocean blue eyes as understanding set in. "And you always knew what they were saying."

She chuckled mildly, turning away. "It is always helpful to know what you're being accused of beforehand. After all, I hate to see a family divided. But, even I couldn't do much of anything by the time the war broke and OZ took over control. There were far too many enemies outside of either of our grasps when Romafeller collapsed."

"He used you as a spy," Quatre interjected.

She turned back, finding a touch of horror to his eyes. "I was always recon, Quatre," she reminded him. "I didn't take sides, I merely related information when it was needed, and offered a few choice words of wisdom."

"Then why end up with the White Fang?" Trowa quietly asked her.

She sighed to herself, knowing this was not an easy question. "Treize had no place for me, and I figured that Mr. Milliardo would have the best… vantage point."

Quatre shook his head. "You would have known him too then, through Treize," he tried.

Dorothy blinked. "One of the most upstanding and noteworthy soldiers to ever come out of Lake Victoria? Of course. Did you think just anyone could have simply waltzed onto his bridge?" She knew exactly when the realization clicked in for him.

"He knew what you were capable of," he sobered. "But you expected Treize to win," he whispered.

She shrugged, "I didn't expect Earth to declare defeat, if that's what you mean. But I did expect _Libra_ to fall. By whatever method," she narrowed her eyes.

Quatre turned away; worry plaguing his eyes as she was sure he knew exactly why she had chosen _Libra_ as her battleground. He'd already confirmed it from her. She had never intended to leave it.

"Did you know about MarieMaia before?" Trowa asked from behind her, possibly leading the conversation away on purpose.

Turning, she shook her head no. "I had never heard a word about her. Of course, that was all a little before my time. However, the rest of the fallout from that relationship certainly didn't end there. I would almost assume that Treize and Leia were viciously forced apart before that little discovery."

"You don't think he knew?" Quatre blinked.

Dorothy shrugged. "I don't know. There wasn't anything he possibly could have done even if he did, but I'd like to think that he simply didn't know."

"The two Foundations weren't inclined to pass information between them," Trowa observed.

"Not a bit," she agreed. "Why do you think the members took such offence to the idea of a Krushrenada and a Barton?"

"They were afraid of a leak," Quatre tried.

She raised an eyebrow at the innocent idea. "No, they were afraid of the whole blasted world exploding," she chuckled. "Earth and the Colonies colliding, it was like dogs and cats sleeping together. It was just asking for the apocalyptic ending of _Revelation_," she theatrically waved a hand.

She watched as Quatre came to a very familiar understanding.

"That doesn't sound very nice," Catherine quietly added to the room that had fallen silent, having only half a clue what they were talking about.

Dorothy wasn't the only one that laughed.

* * *

"Promise you'll call me when you land?"

Dorothy tightly returned his bone-crushing hug but rolled her eyes at the question. "Dearest, I am perfectly capable of traveling alone, you know."

Loosening his hold, Quatre leaned back to look her in the eye. "Just humor me," he sighed.

Finally she nodded, "Alright, I will."

He gave her a smile for the agreement but still didn't make any move to let her go. Her flight had already been called once for boarding, but she couldn't seem to get Quatre to realize that she needed to go. She didn't blame him though, it seemed… cold to have to leave.

"Thank you," she finally whispered and watched him try to shake it off. "No, really," she interrupted. "I'm not sure what I would have done without you," she confessed, ending up finding a shirt button rather interesting. "I can't tell you what this has meant to me."

He pulled her back in, wrapping her softly in his arms for a minute longer. "You are always welcome, I want you to remember that."

Dorothy smiled to herself on his shoulder, closing her eyes and trying to commit this feeling to memory.

"No matter what, you have a family that you can come back to any time, and we'd do anything for you."

She loosened her hold to lean back, smiling at him, "The Maguanac family?"

He nodded. "Maguanac means 'family,' and there's a reason for it."

"I think I could get used to that idea," she pondered.

Turning away slightly, he smiled at the comment. "I would be lying if I didn't say that I want you to."

Her heart turned soft and squishy at the words, wondering for the fourth time just today how she deserved this. Family. That was honestly how the guys thought of their group. And she'd been inducted in, the individuals that she knew having openly accepted her as one of them. And Quatre…. Well, Quatre was more, she knew it. Sometimes it frightened her that she was getting too close, but he had asked for her to trust him to look after his own feelings.

She had to. If she continued this fear, she didn't know how to react to him. The man always had to make things complicated.

Once again she realized that she was supposed to be boarding a space plane at the moment. "I have to go," she whispered, getting him to turn back to her and nod.

"Have a safe trip."

She smiled up, seeing the warmth of those emotional blue eyes. What would she honestly do without him? "Thank you," she said again, just feeling like she couldn't say that enough.

"I hope I helped," he returned.

And her heart gave in and melted. How humble could one man be?

She heard a second call come for her flight's boarding, but pointedly ignored it, finding it powerfully overwhelming to still be in his arms. It was like trying to get out of a warm bed on a cold morning, there was nothing outside that held any appeal.

He smiled at the announcement and closed his eyes. "You'd better go before I get my wish that you can't leave."

Dorothy suddenly found herself completely agreeing with him. He was inches away, his eyes already closed, a smile to his lips. With the amount of things running through her, she still found a forceful desire in her to steal just a little piece of him away with her. A little touch of warmth, something that she'd be able to hold on to.

Maybe… just once?

Tightening her hold around him, she closed the distance between them, gently pressing a kiss to that smile, feeling him start as she closed her eyes, willing to savor the touch. She lingered, and she felt him return it. Dorothy didn't want a simple peck this time; she needed something a little more. Just something a bit more….

His kiss was soft and very light. His arms around her flexed once as if to move tighter, but they never did. And the kiss died between them almost as quickly as it started.

"Thank you," she whispered again before slipping out of his arms, avoiding his eyes as she picked up her luggage. "I'll call when I get to Miss Relena's," she confirmed.

She gave him a last look over her shoulder, and watched him absently swallow. "Goodbye, Dorothy."

"Ciao," she smiled as she headed off towards the Earth-side gate.

The smile was fake and she lost it easily as she left him behind, heart-stopping cold running through her veins. She'd wanted a memory to impress upon herself, but that was not the type that she was looking for.

She mindlessly made it onto the plane and into her seat, not caring in the least about anything around her. How could she be so incredibly stupid? She knew better. She had always known better.

* * *

"The biggest mistake of my life is that I said yes, when I had to say no." – Unknown

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	16. Chapter 16

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 16

Quatre laid himself out on the bed, closing his eyes for a moment just to rest. His suitcase had been dropped just inside his bedroom door, and he didn't figure it was going to get unpacked tonight. Kicking off his shoes, he let them drop to the floor, not even bothering to attempt to untie them.

It was only six-thirty in the evening, but he felt tired and worn out. Granted he hadn't exactly slept well in most of the week since Dorothy had shown up at his office. And this weekend certainly didn't help any.

His flight was a few hours later than Dorothy's, so he'd gotten a couple more hours with Trowa and Catherine after she left. Of course, there couldn't have been any other topic than the Lady Catalonia between the three of them. Catherine was fully taken with her, and was cheerfully optimistic that it wouldn't be the only time she'd get to see her. If nothing else, the two had exchanged contact information, and he had no doubt that the two conniving little nymphs would be chatting from time to time.

He was silently thankful that the touring schedule for the circus was kept as tight as it was. Not that he could actually take any offense from the two women. He would just have to be careful with putting them on the same colony again. He wasn't sure he'd live through any more of their teasing.

Trowa hadn't made any new observations about her, or him, or them, or whatever. Quatre was sure that his friend was a little at a loss with what he'd begun to understand about the two of them. Actually, so was he.

Scooting up a little on the bed, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his satellite phone, flipping it open to make sure that he hadn't mysteriously missed a call that still hadn't come. There were no messages listed, no calls that he hadn't answered, just like the other hundred times he'd checked. Dorothy simply hadn't called him like she'd promised she would.

It would be one-thirty in the morning in the European provinces. Even coming off the time difference Dorothy should be fast asleep somewhere in Relena's estate by now.

She'd merely forgotten, he told himself. She had gotten to Miss Relena's and the two had lost all track of time as Dorothy would have rushed right into conning their friend for information on her supposed love life with Heero. Dorothy wouldn't purposefully just ignore him. She was never spiteful, well not too spiteful, despite what happened….

He let his thoughts shut off before they played through the memory again. Sighing at the phone, he closed it and randomly tossed it onto the comforter beside him.

If she was trying to confuse him to the brink of insanity she was doing a very good job of it. In a single week he had been driven to more emotions, longings and insecurities than he had ever felt before at any other point in his life, including the war.

What he wouldn't give to know what was going through that woman at any given time. That seemed funny coming from him. He usually had a very good understanding of what emotions were plaguing others. At least he seemed to. Dorothy never made it easy, and she had a bad habit of always turning over his ideas of typical human interactions.

Rolling onto his side, he snagged a pillow out from under the comforter and bunched it under his head. Closing his eyes again, he finally gave in and replayed their parting conversation. He really did know that he was going to miss her, and he'd wanted to hang onto her as long as he possibly could.

That may have been a mistake. Whether Dorothy wanted to admit to it or not, she was still a little emotionally fragile at the moment. At least he figured she should be. And him being "clingy" to her probably hadn't exactly helped. But he still didn't understand where that kiss had come from… or how he should have responded to it.

He was getting used to the idea that Dorothy simply viewed that particular symbol of affection differently than he did. What else was new? Quatre had had to have the same talk with himself after the first time she'd pecked a kiss on him. Just as strange as her little unspoken apologies, her thank yous were as unique as she was.

But this hadn't been the same.

Remembering the feeling of her lingering touch, he mentally turned it over again. This wasn't her typical, un-returnable peck on the lips. She had paused, that coy whisper of her caress searching. He wasn't sure now, anymore than he was then, what she'd been looking for, but apparently he'd disappointed her.

Of course his first instinct, once he figured out she was kissing him and that she wasn't immediately pulling away, was to pull her in, deepen it to something real. But he'd instantly felt ashamed of the thought, returning only a mild kiss of his own. He'd felt as if he was, well, taking advantage of her.

That sounded extremely stupid to admit. After all, this was Dorothy Catalonia, possibly the most headstrong and defiant woman he knew. He would never, under any other circumstances, come to the conclusion that she had been caught in a weak moment.

But part of him couldn't let that thought go. What if he was just the rebound project to her? Not that he would ever complain about being the one to help her through something. But he hated the thought of being something that she clung to just because something else fell apart.

He was back to feeling that he wanted to be more than that. Well, who wouldn't?

He shouldn't be thinking like that. It was the wrong way around for one thing. Dorothy wasn't the one with the broken heart, Andrew was…. Actually, no, he knew better than that. She had had her emotions trampled on too, and she was just as vulnerable now.

"Dorothy" and "vulnerable" just didn't fit in the same sentence very easily. He was being paranoid again, that's all there was to it. He should stop second-guessing her. She told him again and again that she was fine; she'd just needed a little pick up initially, and he'd been happy to be there for her. He should just trust that she knew what she was doing.

But then how did he explain that kiss? Should he even try to explain it? Maybe it was just like all the others. OK, not _all_ the others, but he wasn't going to count the Mars one.

Oh, why not? He'd tried running in circles from that single action for long enough. He'd wanted it. There, he thought it, no taking it back now. He'd wanted to kiss her. Really kiss her. He wanted the feel of her. Wanted to thank her. Wanted a piece of that kindness that she'd shown to him, a little of her warmth, and a piece of her presence to remind himself that she was real and with him.

He'd wanted to hold on to her.

Lazily his eyes opened again, looking at the shapes of the items on his bedside table that he faced towards. Maybe he wasn't so far off. It wasn't exactly the same type of environment, but in a way he could see how she would have simply been emotionally tired. And in that, maybe she'd wanted the same thing, just a little piece of someone who cared, who had shown her kindness.

Maybe he did understand what had gone through her after all.

Staring at the shapeless forms that assaulted his eyes in the dimming room, he finally made out his phone again, sitting on the bed in front of him. Maybe he understood too late. Instead of giving in to his initial reaction and deepening her kiss, in essence giving her something to "remember" him by, he'd let the invitation die.

Quatre closed his eyes again. If he'd screwed this up with some worthless fear he'd hate himself for it. So what if she'd been a little vulnerable. He should know by now that Dorothy took everything in stride. And, even if it wasn't the friendliest of things to do, he should have sealed her in his arms and let her know that there was someone who would never abandon her.

He was a coward.

Sighing to himself he bunched the pillow under him again. This was all just assumptions anyway. For all he truly knew, she had simply kissed him, saying thank you and goodbye with it, and went on her merry way not dwelling on it in the least. But if he had disappointed her, he hoped she'd forgive him for it. He'd been mistaken, it wasn't like he didn't care, or didn't appreciate it.

He hoped she knew that.

That simple thought echoed absently, repeating itself as a tired mind softly slipped towards the edge of unconsciousness. He welcomed it, hoping that his thoughts wouldn't plague his dreams too.

He was just at the twilight of sleep, his tiredness pulling him down, when his phone began chirping a happy little ring—scaring the living crud out of him.

* * *

Dorothy brushed out her hair again and then slowly split it in three parts and worked through braiding it into a single trail. Typically she didn't bother with braiding it for bed, but she wasn't tired enough to sleep yet, and she was killing time.

She was thoroughly squeaky clean and her teeth were brushed within an inch of their lives. She'd filed her nails, and even gave them a clear polishing too for good measure. She debated on her toes now as she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

All to avoid her phone, innocently still stuffed in her purse, which was still in her carry-on bag.

Giving herself a pathetic sigh she straightened her shoulders, turned and walked out of the bathroom, flipping off the light as she went. She rummaged through her case until she found the stupid phone, and then clicked off her guestroom's overhead light as well, only leaving on the little lamp on the side table beside the bed.

Nothing that she was doing was actually going to convince her that she could honestly say that she'd _forgotten_ to call Quatre when she got here. In all truth, she hadn't forgotten anything about him since she'd left L4. She was just running away, and she mentally slapped herself for it.

Throwing back the covers she climbed into bed and folded the sheet and the blankets very neatly over her lap as she sat upright, staring at the phone she was holding. _It's one lousy phone call. Don't be such a coward._

She really needed to work on her pep talks.

Sighing and rolling her eyes she glanced at the clock again, hoping by some miracle that it would be some terribly late hour and she could tell herself that she didn't want to disturb him. Two a.m. stared back at her. Yeah, a whole seven o'clock in the evening there. No such luck.

Without thinking about it any further she flipped open her phone and called up her contact numbers. Last one in the list, just like always, but she still scrolled all the way through, just in case "Winner, Quatre-Satellite" had somehow jumped up in the alphabet.

Sighing to herself and feeling like an idiot, she finally called it, waiting for the telltale clicks of being redirected from Earth to the satellites, and then somewhere into the L4 cluster, before she actually got to hear it ring.

It was only one ring before she heard a hasty, "Hello?"

Blinking, Dorothy wondered if she'd gotten a wrong number somehow. "Quatre? Did I catch you at a bad time?" she questioned.

"No, no. I just… startled myself," he weakly answered.

She slowly let the smile creep into her expression, wondering why she'd been so concerned about their last encounter at all. He'd forgive her for it, she was sure he would. "You really should have something a little more professional than 'Ride of the Valkyries' for your ring-tone."

She heard the little embarrassed chuckle. "Well, congratulations Miss Dorothy, you're the only person who's ever known the actual name of the song."

She shrugged, "It's a terrible rendition."

"Yes, it is," he agreed.

There was a pause as neither knew exactly what to say, something that usually never happened between them. "Sorry I'm late," she finally apologized. "Relena and I got to chatting." Well, it was half true.

"Understandable. I'm glad you called though."

She smirked. "Even if I startled you with Mr. Wagner's best known piece?"

"You really have a good background in the classics, don't you? I noticed that this weekend too. I guess I've never asked if you play something."

Dorothy smiled at the conversation. Her dearest Quatre was always one to skirt the unpleasant topics. She shouldn't have worried. "Actually, no. I know exactly enough to pick out 'Happy Birthday' on the piano, and it usually takes me three or four attempts to do that."

Quatre laughed at her, apparently amused with the idea. "I find that odd coming from a lady of your background."

"I'm much more of the 'art appreciator' than the 'artist.' Mother was the musician. I got voice lessons," she bitterly added.

"You really didn't appreciate that, did you?"

"No," she sighed, and then scooted herself down under the covers. "Those were definitely grandfather's idea."

"I think you have a lovely voice. I just wish you'd actually let me hear it," he teased.

She smiled to herself at the reference. It wasn't the first time that he'd poked and prodded at her to sing something for him. "Well, Master Winner, perhaps one of these days I'll get you to play something I can sing to."

"I'll remember that," he confirmed.

Oh, and she knew he would too. "I take that back," she muttered, trying to balance the phone over her ear as she curled into the bed. "Actually I've been conned into being a vocalist for a friend's wedding next month, and I think that will be the extent of my singing for the next year."

"Dorothy, it's a nice compliment to be asked to do something like that."

Leave it to Quatre to believe that. "Dearest, if it wasn't for those 'sweet' little nuns back home that you're so fond of, I wouldn't be singing anywhere but my shower. Adding weddings to my resume wasn't my idea."

There was a full laugh on the other end, and she snuggled a little deeper into her covers, enjoying the sound. "Surely in three years of lessons you developed more of a resume than just weddings… and showers."

She snickered at the reference, hoping he didn't believe the shower part. "No I didn't. My instructor was an evil, old crust of a woman who was angry at the whole world because no man could ever put up with her enough to marry her."

"Dorothy!"

"She hated me," she defended herself.

"Somehow I doubt that you made it easy on her to teach you anything if you didn't like it to begin with," came the accusation.

"…Maybe," she grumbled.

"What am I going to do with you?" came the exasperated comment.

She smirked. "Well, not all of us have a talent for such things. It's my job to appreciate, and criticize, not attempt."

"Criticize?"

"Of course," she happily commented. "You'll have to meet Davonte sometime. He'll babble on for hours about me being a wonderful critic, even though I have the artistic talent of a four year old."

"This is the painter friend who had the showing last week, right?"

She nodded, and then realized that he couldn't see her. "Yes. Odd, but terribly fun. He was my partner through a number of years of my dance classes too. Now there's something I actually have a talent at."

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "Wonderful, you can teach me."

"Darling, I'm sure you're a perfectly good dancer."

"I'm perfectly sure I'm not," he replied.

Dorothy laughed at him, "A man of your status and you never learned a proper waltz? I don't believe you."

"I didn't have your extensive social training, remember? I can manage to get away with a few dances, but that's about all."

"Well, you let me know when you need a lesson," she smiled. "My toes can take an awful lot by this point in my life."

"Good to know."

She nodded absently again, her eyes closed and the bed was calling out for her to surrender and go to sleep.

"It's late there, I should let you get some sleep," he softly commented when she realized she'd let the conversation lapse.

"Sorry, I'm a little tired is all."

"I'm taking it Miss Relena is well?"

She softly rolled over onto her back, forcing herself to not fall asleep on him. "Quite well. She's blushing more than you do these days. I haven't gotten her to crack yet, though."

"Dorothy," he admonished her again. "Stop prying. It won't do you a bit of good whether she spits out what you want to hear or not."

Rolling her eyes she laughed. "Yes, Grandfather," she teased. "Now, when you stop being a prude and join the rest of us in the real world, you let me know."

"I am not a prude. I just don't think it's considerate to meddle in their affairs."

"They'd better not be having an affair."

"Dorothy!"

She laughed, and then tried to quiet herself down again before one of the security personnel heard her. "Quatre, sweetheart, how are we supposed to help them along if we don't know where they're at?"

"They don't need any help, least of all your kind. And you wouldn't appreciate Relena teasing you over your love-life either."

"What do you mean 'wouldn't?'" she snipped.

There was a pause from the other end. "Have you told her about Andrew?"

That wasn't what she meant, but maybe she shouldn't exactly inform Quatre that Relena's teasing had been centered solely on him. Ignoring that she went on, "Yes, I've told her about it. She's been… sympathetic."

"That's good."

He didn't mean to, she was sure, but she heard the note of concern still in his voice. "I wish you would stop worrying about it. I am a fairly resilient woman, you know."

"I know," he answered her berating.

She opened her eyes just enough to roll them at the tone. "A better question is what am I going to do with you?" she teased. "You've already pieced me back together, what more do you want?" she chuckled.

"Honestly?"

Dorothy sobered, confused with the question. "Yes." There was a lengthy pause, and she realized that he probably hadn't meant for her to call him on that. "Quatre?"

There was a pathetic sigh from his side of the line. "You already know my opinion of the guy, whether it's fair or not. I don't like the idea of you going back to him."

It was like trying to pull his fingernails out to get those words from him, but she understood. It was the same argument that he'd been fighting all week. "I've really tried to tell you that he's not the vicious monster you've created him to be. Besides, think about it, what more could he possibly say to me that would hurt any worse than what's been done?"

"…I don't know."

"Exactly. Now stop worrying about it. I'm giving myself four to one odds that he won't even acknowledge me when I get back anyway," she sighed. "Actually, no, that's not true. Andrew's not the type to simply ignore something. But I do imagine that he'll be a bit surprised."

"Just promise me that you'll be careful with him?"

It was a meek request, and she frowned to herself at it. "What exactly do you expect the guy to do? He's not going to tie me up and keep me in his attic."

There was a weary chuckle, "Do you know that for sure?"

"Quatre, I have known this man all my life. Granted I apparently missed a great deal when it came to understanding his feelings, but the rest I'm pretty sure about. And that means I'm pretty sure that he's not the type," she grated out in aggravation.

"Two years is a long time for someone to change."

"Quatre!"

"Alright, I'm sorry."

She groaned at the apology. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm OK with this?"

"I don't know, I guess."

"Why do you never just believe me?"

"Why start now?"

She gave him a fake laugh for it.

"Tell me something nice about him."

Dorothy faltered, "What?"

"All I have is one story to base my opinion on. Tell me something else. Anything else, I don't care."

Only Quatre would ever come up with an idea like that, she reasoned before shaking her head. "Um… Alright. What can I say?" She paused, thinking of something "nice" about Andrew. It was a little difficult considering most of her childhood had been spent enduring him for her grandfather's sake.

"If it's that hard to come up with something, you're not going to change my opinion in a hurry," he teased.

"Shh," she admonished. "I'm thinking."

"Sorry."

Skipping ahead to their high school career, she ran through a number of things that made her smile, but nothing seemed Quatre-friendly enough to tell. Why was it so hard to remember the good times? "Alright, I have a story," she caught onto something. "But it's not really a pleasant one."

"…Alright," he mumbled, confused.

"I guess I should start by saying that our school was the only one in the area that opted for short uniform skirts for the girls, which tended to give us… a reputation," she started with a smile. "Somewhere in one of the school's documents it cited that shorter skirts would be better for 'range of movement' considering the _brilliant_ military minds behind this place. And it was sort of a running joke around town as to what types of 'movement' that involved."

"St. George Military Academy strikes again," he muttered. "Wait, shouldn't you have been nice, modest, little Catholic girls?"

Dorothy broke out laughing again. "Oh, Master Winner, the nuns had very little to do with the school by the time I got there. But truthfully, yes, they expected us to have the decency to act like ladies when in a skirt of any length."

"Didn't know you very well, did they?"

"Of course they did, that's why our gym bloomers were also part of the uniform at all times. …But try to get a retired army Lieutenant to check for them," she laughed.

"I'm really sorry I asked about this," he interjected.

"Too late," she snipped. "Now, the princesses were typically divided between two other schools in the area. Both schools were all girls, and were much more interested in the 'refinement' of the young noble lady."

"Romafeller stock."

"Predominantly, yes. They were also very convenient places to send your daughters while the fathers worked the real matters since they were boarding schools. And they came home just enough to make grand, showy, entrances at various family affairs for the circle, in essence providing a way to display them just enough to pique the other sons' interests."

"You're joking," came the incredulous interruption.

"Not in the least," she smirked. "The women of Romafeller had a fantastic way of being very nicely cloned. I used to tease Andrew and Byron that all they really needed to decide on was what hair color they preferred."

"Byron?"

"Oh, Byron Solvana, another of the fencing team's members, and the only other Romafeller descendent on the team. He was—is—Andrew's best friend," she explained. "They were classmates, and just about inseparable."

"I see."

"Anyway, as I've always told you, I was the exception in nearly everything. However, I was typically very involved with the art circle, which made a good excuse to waltz Davonte around, which he also spends hours spouting to people about," she smiled.

"He's not a member then?"

"No, of course not, he's an artist," she corrected.

"I take it those two things don't go together well?"

"Not unless you're a girl," she laughed. "Which brings me back to the story. Christmas break, my freshman year, the princesses are all invited to have their yearly meet and greet over one of the older girl's showings. Of course grandfather hosted, on the promise that I would stop 'running with the riff-raff' and make myself presentable to the gentlemen."

She heard Quatre snicker, but he didn't interrupt.

"So, I mistakenly came home the last day of our classes, which was also the set up day for the showing, in full uniform and trailing Andrew, Byron, and four others of our group through the main hallway. The proper princesses were not thrilled with the looks of it apparently."

"They would have known the eligibility of the two?"

"Of course they did," she purred. "Now, you can imagine what sorts of things got spread around about me. Attending a co-ed school, and a military one at that, wearing a short skirt, being seen casually with a group of all boys, and most all, associating with two of the chosen sons outside of their self-proclaimed time limits. It was simply shameful," she dramatically mimicked.

"I thought my sisters had it bad…" Quatre pondered to himself.

"Yes, well, they didn't stop there," she continued. "By the open house the next night, I had been turned into the most deplorable little tramp the world had ever seen. I'll spare you from going into details; you're still underage to hear those sorts of things."

"What?" he cried. "Dorothy…."

"Hush, hush," she calmed. "That was the sort of reaction that Andrew and Byron had too. Let's just say they weren't enthused about what they kept hearing snippets of. And, if anyone knew the truth of my, non-existent, love attachments, it would be those two."

Dorothy collected herself, calming the anger that the memories brought up. "Well, by the middle of the evening, I had overheard enough, and just picked a direction and left. Unbeknownst to me, the guys had gotten worried since they'd both been trying to keep an eye on me through the pleasantries. So, my dear Admiral came up with an odd little plan."

"The two worked through the ballroom, asking casually if anyone knew where I'd gone. When none of the girls could answer, they would drop some sort of hint that it was going to be a terribly boring party with all of these stuffy 'little dolls.' Once through with the damage, they both found each other again and made a large, silent display of leaving early."

She chuckled to herself, "The room literally went as close to chaos as a formal function of the upper-crust ever could. The two circled around, climbed the fire escape and the downspouts to my room and just about had to gag me to sneak me back downstairs to where they could say that they found me, saintly helping my grandfather with his stock reports, or something all noble-like."

"By the time I was re-escorted into the ballroom between them, with this story tied to me, the girls were livid and the men were confused to no end," she laughed. "I don't think I managed to sit out a dance the rest of the evening, since I was apparently the only worthy girl in the room now." She finished with a giggle to herself, remembering how badly Andrew had snubbed one of her most vocal opponents. "I've told you, dearest, the gentlemen have always been kinder to me."

There was a lengthy pause, "Well, that sheds a little light on things."

"Yes," she hummed. "Andrew especially was always one to look after me. Byron and the others were very good also though, but I'd always figured that Andrew felt like he needed to protect me. Why I'm not sure, he got in the way as much as he was actually helpful. But I do suppose that I'm glad he was there."

"I think I could, grudgingly, be inclined to agree with you. And, by the way, you have a habit of making men feel they need to be protective of you."

Dorothy rolled her eyes but smiled. "Well, at least I find the capable ones," she cooed softly to him. "Of course, back then I thankfully had Byron to side with me and let me have some fun."

"Was there a reason that he wasn't the other 'answer to your grandfather's prayers'?" Quatre ignored the obvious jab.

She laughed at him, "I suppose he could have been a nice second choice, but the Solvana line is the least among the seven founding families, at least according to the Dermails. Byron would have probably ranked somewhere in the 'acceptable' range in grandfather's book, but no higher."

Quatre chuckled, "And Gundam pilot would have probably placed me somewhere below dirt, right?"

She laughed outright at the comment, finding it wonderfully fun that he even wanted to know where he ranked. "Actually, a non-Foundation man of upper-level breeding still ranked somewhere under dirt. You, sweetheart, would have gotten a number of truly ugly words… and then he would have found out you're a Colonist too."

"Oh, fantastic."

"Old ideals, darling," she soothed to him. "It could be worse; you could also be a Barton."

"Oh, good, I'm glad I'm not the very last possibility."

"No," she teased. "You could be a broke Gundam pilot Colonist with a Barton Foundation membership," she laughed. "However, you are pretty much on the wrong side of everything, aren't you?"

He sighed. "Why do you like me?" he meekly asked.

Rolling back onto her side, she closed her eyes again. "I've always enjoyed a challenge."

"…That's it?"

Dorothy giggled at him with a smirk. "No, of course not. I like you for the same reasons that my grandfather hated you so much. Granted, if you were a Romafeller aristocrat and had fought for the Alliance instead…. Well, you more than likely would have had Andrew's place."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," he grumbled at her.

"Hm. Well, if it does make you feel better, if you were on 'my side,' I don't think I'd like you as much as I do," she confessed.

"I have a feeling that it's not just my award winning personality that's the attraction, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You have a thing for the all or nothing soldier's mentality, don't you?" he accused.

She rolled over again, and narrowed her eyes up at the ceiling. "Yes, I do. I'll admit that to you," she cooed. There was nothing but a sigh from his side of the line. "Would you like to know what else I have an unequivocal addiction to?" she purred.

"No."

She ignored him. "That touch of pure fire in a passionate soul."

"…Alright," came the confused response.

Dorothy gave him an evil chuckle. "Do you really want me to go into what I find attractive about you, darling?"

"No," he stated more forcefully this time.

"Alright, fine. So, did that help any?" she asked instead.

"Yes. I now know that Andrew Varnhem spent entirely too much time around you."

"What?" she asked indignantly.

"You are the only other person I know that would come up with a plan like that, and follow through on it."

"Great minds think alike," she muttered.

"Didn't either of them think about just seeing if you were all right?"

"What would the fun be in that?" she shrugged.

"I give up."

* * *

"Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure out what from." – Mae West.

Now, for those interested, if you would like to see more about this little visit with Relena, you will have to turn over to "Realizations" chapter 9, and I do very much recommend it.

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	17. Chapter 17

AN: For any (or perhaps all) of you who are also reading "Realizations" you will recognize part of this chapter, please bear with it though, it is a very different take on the same scene. Thank you.

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 17

"How did you do it?"

Quatre chuckled at the opening line. No "hello." No "how have you been?" If his phone wasn't programmed to come up with the code RP-D for her, he would have still been trying to place the voice. "Miss Relena, I was wondering if I was going to get a call sometime soon from you."

_Two days with Dorothy will do that to a person,_ he happily smiled.

"How did you do it, Quatre? Honestly, how did you survive the flight back from Mars? I need to take notes on your diplomatic skills." The voice sighed at the end, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"From Mars?" he questioned, randomly tidying up his desk for the end of the workday. Surely Relena didn't think that that was the last time he'd spent around Dorothy.

"I suppose that question would make more sense if I told you that Duo and Hilde dropped by tonight for a little visit while they're in the area."

Quatre stopped short, catching on quickly. Duo was notorious for dropping by unannounced on all of them now and then when his business or deliveries brought him around. It was nice, but the man had some very inopportune timing. "You got Dorothy and Duo in the same room together, didn't you?"

Again there was a distressed sigh. "Yes."

"And Duo pulled out his best eyebrow jokes for the occasion, and Dorothy retaliated with the 'pretty braid' insults." Now he understood perfectly why she'd brought up the Mars trip. He'd spent three days on the way back trying to keep the two off each other.

"Worse."

Quatre blinked. "Worse?" He wasn't sure those two could get worse without physically biting and clawing.

"I thought I'd gotten used to their little… whatever they do. They were at least mildly civil the last time I saw them. But this was… vicious."

"Vicious?" He'd never thought of the two actually being hurtful to one another. "How vicious?" Of course, he'd wondered more than once how they didn't take offense to some of the things they threw back and forth.

"Well, they hugged and made up before they left, but it wasn't mild."

"…You got them to hug?" Quatre couldn't help but laugh at the picture. "I think your diplomatic skills are safe, Relena."

"As much as I would like to take credit for that, I had nothing to do with it. Besides, I think it was actually the least friendly hug I've ever seen."

Both of them laughed, and he was actually mildly upset that he'd missed it. "Well, it sounds like it all worked out."

"I guess so. But those two worry me."

She didn't actually sound all that worried about it though, and he figured that she wanted more to just poke a little fun at the two with someone else. Quatre was slowly finding that the others in their makeshift group tended to think of him as Dorothy's keeper now, much like they tended to think of Relena as Heero's liaison. It was a nice feeling.

"Actually… that's not what really worries me. Too much at least."

He listened to her voice flip between light and concerned and then back again. Creasing his brow he turned and slouched against his desk, looking out the windows of his office building and deciding to pay more attention to the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"Quatre, I don't mean to, well, dump something on you, especially when you weren't directly involved but…." Here Relena trailed out and then sighed and continued on, her tone going softer. "Well, I don't know how to approach Dorothy sometimes. It's not that I can't talk to her, it's just that if she doesn't want to answer something, she doesn't, and I get nowhere."

"She doesn't give straight answers very often," he soothingly agreed. He didn't want to let on that her words were really worrying him.

"No, she doesn't," Relena agreed. "And normally I wouldn't worry about it, but it's impossible for me to tell when something's actually troubling her, and when something isn't."

He nodded thoughtfully. Quatre knew very well that Dorothy could hide almost anything very convincingly. He still remembered how he hadn't even noticed that something was so terribly wrong the afternoon that she'd come to visit him last week. "I know what you mean."

"I just feel weird calling you when I should just walk across the hall and ask."

He noticed the uncertainty in her voice, and picked up that Relena was probably hoping that he'd be able to tell her it was either nothing to worry about, or that she should go do just that. "Do you think she took Duo's kidding personally this time?" Dorothy was never one to take something like that to heart, at least not that he'd ever noticed. It was probably nothing.

"No, I think she was fine with that actually. It was something else that came up. And, I guess I'm hoping that you can fill me in. Duo and Hilde are staying with Heero tonight, so I didn't know how to ask him about it."

By this point, Quatre was completely confused. "Ask about what, Relena?"

"You were with Heero and the others during the attack on _Libra_, weren't you?" she asked a bit apologetically.

Quatre cringed at the mention. He wasn't sure how much Relena knew about that last battle, or what Heero may have told her since then. But putting Duo in a room with Dorothy meant there was the possibility that what had gotten brought up was their fencing duel. Truthfully, Heero and Wufei probably still didn't know how he'd actually been injured in that battle. Neither had asked, unlike Duo, and he hadn't volunteered the information willing to anyone.

Duo picked on him that he was just mad that a girl beat him up. Actually, he was trying to be respectful of Dorothy's feelings. Besides, he'd never held that against her personally, and the others didn't need any other reasons to think badly of her.

"Yes, of course," he quietly answered her question.

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, Quatre. If you're not up for talking about this, please just tell me."

He shook the thoughts off but absently placed his hand over his left side where the scar was. "No, Miss Relena, it's fine. Ask me anything."

There was a little relieved hum. "Well, apparently Hilde and Dorothy figured out that they had met before. Or, something like that. I was out of the room and walked back in somewhere in the middle I think. Anyway, _Libra_ got brought up somehow and it seems that something Dorothy did… ended up getting Hilde hurt. But I don't know what it was."

Quatre sat against his desk, completely confused. "Hilde?" he asked himself. Had the two met in the battleship before she escaped with the building plans? "I'm sorry, I don't know what that would have been," he responded. "Hilde was badly injured by the time we got her back to the _Peacemillion_, but I had assumed that those injuries were all caused in battle before she got to us."

"…By the two suits? The Mercurius and the Vayeate?"

He blinked. "Yes. How did you know about them?"

"Dorothy had given me the whole tour, including the suits that were programmed with Heero and Trowa's data. …And she said something about being the one to send them after her." There was a pause as the two pulled that together. "So… Dorothy's plan ended up getting her hurt?"

Quatre sat, staring out the window at the curve of the colony in front of him, a hollow feeling entering the pit of his stomach. "If she was the one who specifically sent those models after her, then yes, it seems that way."

"I never knew Hilde was injured."

He flashed back to the scene. Duo hovered over her body as the limited medical staff they had on _Peacemillion_ started an IV on her and quickly put her under to avoid the pain of treating the concussion and open wounds. "Pretty Badly."

"…Oh."

He didn't respond. He simply let his eyes fall closed, understanding why Relena had become concerned. And she was probably right to be.

"Dorothy probably never knew that though, right?"

He snapped back to her question, staring out at the colony again. "I don't know how she could have. Those models were already programmed; they weren't part of the dolls' control systems." She wouldn't have been individually responsible for their actions at least. "She was more than likely on the bridge when Hilde made her way towards us." He quietly sighed, "Dorothy's strategies are impressive. She, if not Zechs, would have understood what someone breaking out and heading for us meant."

"I followed that part. She said something about reasoning that it was a spy."

And Dorothy had sent the best of what she had available to intercept someone that she would have had to have known was sympathetic to their team. She would not have underestimated someone sided with them. Very impressive, he mused, even if it was at the expense of a friend.

But she hadn't known. She was simply doing her best at the station she held. But would Hilde understand that? Would….

Cold fear froze in him. "What happened?"

"Dorothy apologized."

"How did they take it?"

"Hilde easily said that there wasn't anything to apologize for. Duo…. Well, he was angry at first, but he calmed down again too. Hilde pretty much said that there wasn't anything to do about it now. The three went on, and they seemed fine the rest of the night."

He let his breath out, physically relaxing again. "I was worried what Duo's reaction would be. It really bothered him that she'd gotten hurt trying to help us."

"If Hilde wasn't there, I think it would have been worse."

"But you think they're all right with it?" he asked again.

"I'm pretty sure Hilde and Duo are fine. Like I said, he actually gave her a hug before they left, although it was probably supposed to be more comedic than anything, I think. And Dorothy didn't seem upset. I'm just still a little worried about her though. Aside from word-whipping Duo all night, she seemed kind of quiet."

Quatre nodded to himself, trying to come to his own conclusion of how this would have affected her. "I don't imagine that she brushed it off as easily as she seemed to," he answered out loud. "She's been…. Well, it's like everything that's ever gone wrong in her life is choosing to come back on her all at the same time."

"Like this thing with Andrew?"

He started. Well, of course she knew about that. Dorothy had told him last night that the two had talked about it. He just wasn't expecting her to bring it up though. "Yes," he finally answered.

"Quatre, do you think she's really over that?"

It was a very soft question and he knew that Relena was worrying over a number of things right now. "Honestly," he sighed, "no."

"What do we do?"

Softly a smirk worked onto his face at the question. He still liked the feeling of being the one that Relena had talked this through with, even if it was a terrible thing to have to think about. "I don't know, Relena. I wish I did. I keep feeling like I can't help her any more." It was his honest answer.

"Maybe we can't," she confessed. "But, should I bring up what happened tonight with her? I keep getting the feeling that she'll just brush it off no matter what I do."

She was probably right. "It's up to you. She won't blame you for asking, even if she does say it's nothing." Following that line of thought, he paused. "Although, I'm sure this wouldn't go over that well."

"This what?"

He cringed in spite of himself. "That you called me about it. Not that I would ever tell you you shouldn't have. Honestly, I'm glad you did. But Dorothy…" he trailed out.

"Will make sure they never find my body?" she supplied with a little chuckle. "I've already thought of that."

He laughed at the idea. "Something like that," he tried. "She's just not one to like the idea of being looked after."

"I should write her a book."

Quatre laughed again. "Truthfully, I don't envy Heero and the others. I know you too well to believe that you're always easy to keep track of."

"Well, I try," he could hear the smile in her voice. "So, going back to the beginning, how did you keep her and Duo from killing each other?"

He shrugged. "I had a standing threat to pull them off by their hair."

"Did it work?"

"I only had to do it to Duo once," he replied.

"Ah," came the knowing sigh. "You're too afraid of trying that with Dorothy too, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," he hopelessly admitted. Her laugh really made him feel better.

They chatted pleasantly a couple minutes more and then said their goodbyes, Relena saying that she'd look after Dorothy for him. It was just enough to put a smile on his face as he hung up the phone, but it faded quickly.

He looked back out the window, still not acknowledging Rasid's entrance into his office sometime towards the end of the conversation. Poor, dear Dorothy. What could he possibly do?

"Master Quatre?" his friend's gruff voice still didn't pull his attention back inside the office. "Is Lady Dorothy all right?"

"Yes," he answered. "Physically anyway." What could any of them do? "She's really being haunted, Rasid," he admitted very quietly, knowing that the captain of their force would understand by what.

There was a low rumble in the man's throat as he acknowledged that.

"I don't know what to do for her," he admitted again. Rasid had taken more than just a casual interest in Dorothy in the past few months. All of them had really. Especially since the guys' little video show-and-tell about her, she'd become a legend, her stories praised through their ranks.

Typically he found it funny, but it was also a feeling of acceptance that he'd known before when he had finally joined up rightfully with this brotherhood. He didn't think she actually felt that yet. Really, he didn't think she felt that anywhere these days.

"She's a strong woman," Rasid interjected.

Yes, Quatre certainly agreed with that. But even the strongest people needed to know that there was someone somewhere who would understand them. "I know. I just wish there was something that I could _do_. If she was one of the guys I'd slap her on the back and tell her that at least there's always forty other people who'll still love her."

There was a rumble of a chuckle from behind him. "Maybe you should try it. Lady Dorothy isn't exactly the most delicate of women."

He broke a chuckle at the understatement. "True."

* * *

"_That's it."_

_Duo had been interrupted from whatever comment he was going to make. Turning back to the short, blue-haired young lady he called a girlfriend, he asked, "What's it?"_

This was Miss Hilde Schbeiker, and Dorothy had been introduced to her when she and Duo had shown up at Relena's estate with Heero that evening. To the two love-birds, Duo had simply chosen a random time to drop by for a visit to his old "brother in arms" while he was in the area. However, no one else knew that Dorothy and Duo were on speaking terms with each other outside of the group since their little meeting on Mars. And since she had an excuse to be here anyway, Dorothy had extended the invitation.

She also knew that probably half the reason that he had dragged Hilde along was the fact that Dorothy would typically tease him that she didn't believe he had a girlfriend, since it was obvious that no one would willingly put up with him. The other half probably really was that the cute blue-eyed woman and Miss Relena did seem very affectionate towards each other, and they'd come to visit both her and Heero.

Her plan with Duo was simple. Dig up what they could from their respective side of the relationship and dish together when they had the chance. Well, this evening, after an insane amount of uncouth bickering between themselves, most of which was at the expense of her poor eyebrows, they had managed to get Relena and Heero to, politely, flee from their un-surveillance-monitored room, giving the two instigators the opening they had been looking for.

Unfortunately, that part hadn't amounted to much.

"_Sorry. I just figured out where I know you from," Hilde commented._

"_Me?" Dorothy blinked. "I hadn't realized we've met before," she added as she tried to place the girl._

"_We haven't really 'met.' I think we've just crossed paths." After a little prodding, she had finally spit out, "I think I saw you aboard _Libra_."_

"_I imagine that could be, if you were onboard," she'd started. That was not exactly a pleasant topic to bring up around this circle of friends._

"_Yeah, Cat here was a bad guy," Duo explained to his better half. "We're hoping she's converted," he laughed._

Dorothy had actually found that statement rather nice coming from him. They were never exactly good friends, actually "friends" was stretching it, but they held a common interest in eavesdropping on their other friends' love life, and they'd gotten along quite well with their typical insulting banter. He kept her on her toes at least.

She'd become very used to the little shortened name "Cat" that he began dubbing her with… along with a collection of other not-so-nice names. Dorothy had eventually discerned that they tolerated each other nicely, and the little comment was as close to affectionate as she ever really wanted to get with him.

_But the idea that this girl had been on _Libra_ was odd to her. "Although, I'm curious now about you, Miss Hilde," they'd gone on._

"_I was originally on the wrong side of these guys too," she admitted. "But once I found out what he was really fighting for, I sort of had a change of heart. I was a new recruit for the Alliance when I stumbled over Duo. After that, I 'made a nuisance of myself' trying to get into trouble for him."_

"_Well, woman after my own heart," she commented, honestly thinking higher of her now that she knew something about her. And them, she added, noting the little displays of affection between the two. They were cute._

_After a little prodding as to why she'd been onboard, Hilde had giggled nervously. "How sore are you about all of that?"_

"_Not as sore as Quatre was," Duo quipped. _

_Dorothy gave him a bitter look. There were very few, if any, things that Duo could say by this point in their short history that would actually upset her, but he'd stepped on one of them. Not that she would ever tell him that of course. _

_He actually cringed a little though and quickly moved the conversation on, "Yeah, anyway, Hilde here was the one that snuck _Libra's_ schematics out from under your nose."_

_She was confused, but then quickly realized what they were saying. Dorothy had no idea that the Gundam pilots had had a copy of the blueprints. But the idea of someone taking something of importance and giving it to them brought up a red flag in her memory._

Hilde had said something after that about meeting Relena, but Dorothy wasn't really paying attention. She'd been shocked, and was debating with herself over one seemingly simple question. _Do I dare say anything?_

But she'd had to. Dorothy knew that it was probably the worst decision she could make, but she just had to. They must have seen it.

"_Lady Dorothy?" Hilde broke her out of her debate. "I'm sorry if we said something—"_

_The other stopped when Dorothy looked back up at her. "I am the one who owes you an apology, Miss Hilde," she stated as forcefully as she could. "You took a space Taurus and cruiser and blasted out of the holding bay on your way back to the _Peacemillion_," she clarified, hoping internally that she would somehow be wrong, that it was someone else who had done that._

_But Hilde nodded._

_And she had to look away, unable to admit to this straight in her eyes. "Then I'm afraid I was the reason that the Mercurius and the Vayeate were sent after you." _

_She didn't look up when she realized that Relena and Heero had just entered the room again, returning from their excuse of making more tea._

"_The two battle-data programmed models," Duo clarified. "Not just a couple mobile dolls. You specifically sent those two suits after her?"_

_Of course she did. She wasn't stupid. Quinze might have been an idiot whose first thought had been that it was merely a deserter, and had wanted to send only dolls after them, but she had easily known better. A simple look at where that suit was headed was all she needed to know to realize what was happening._

"_At the time, I was merely suggesting the best course of action to eliminate someone I knew had to be a spy. And one, I assumed, of considerable skill if they were partnered with the group of you," she figured out halfway through that that they didn't care about her strategy. "I'm not justifying my tactics; I'm stating that I'm sorry. I am assuming that you… sustained injuries," she forced out._

"_You bet she had injuries!" Duo shouted. "You could have killed her!"_

"_Duo, please," she heard Relena try to soothe him. It didn't matter. If he wanted to stand up and punch her for it, she wouldn't blame him. But from his tone, it was going to hurt._

_As it was, she raised her eyes, unafraid of what she'd brought on herself. Yes, she could have killed her, this obviously fun-loving, energetic woman before her, without ever knowing who she was._

"_That was the point," Hilde cut in before Dorothy could admit to the same thing. "It was a war. You can't blame her for it now," she'd held her boyfriend back, and had visibly gotten him to settle down again. Obviously a sign of the bond between them. Turning back, the other woman had surprised her, "You don't owe me anything. You did what you had to, and I understand that."_

_It was a forgiveness that she wasn't really expecting. But it was there nonetheless. Turning away she fought to keep her cool in front of them all. She absolutely would not break down in front of them. "I appreciate that. Thank you, Miss Hilde." She meant it more than the other would probably ever know. "I must say I'm thankful we didn't succeed."_

_The girl smiled, and even elbowed Duo until he relented on his anger. "Yeah, well, still a good thing I was there," he added._

The group had gone on, having a lovely evening between them really. Duo had returned to picking on her mercilessly and she'd returned it, just like always. No hard feelings….

That's what he'd said when they all finally moved to say goodnight.

_Duo made a production out of surprising Relena with a hug. "Take care, Beautiful. Don't trust these security types more than I do," he nodded towards Heero. Turning towards her, he tried wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Hilde hugged Relena too, but Dorothy quickly back peddled out of his grasp. "No hard feelings, Cat."_

"_Not yet, there isn't," she comically eyed him in case he tried it again, keeping up their, only half, charade. _

"_Ah, come here," he said anyway, catching her this time before she could move away and forced her into a tight hug. Whispering almost too quiet even for her to hear, he'd confirmed her suspicions, "I think I made someone jealous."_

_Duo was still playing the same game with her even as he proceeded to try to squeeze the life out of her until she jabbed him in the ribs to make him let go. Oh yes, their stoic friend had cracked just enough during that fun hug he'd just given Relena to tell them both what they were looking for._

_The rest laughed at them when he jumped back and then shook his head. "Cranky, I tell ya."_

They had finally gotten the three out the door, since Duo and Hilde were staying with Heero tonight, and Dorothy knew that she was supposed to use that opening to pry at Relena about the tiny bitter look they had caught. But honestly, she didn't feel up to it tonight.

She'd quickly excused herself, saying it was late, and had come up to her room. She'd closed the door, turned and put her back against it and slid down until she sat on the floor. It was as far as she could make it.

The feelings that had been gnawing at her all night since that argument had finally eaten all the way through her. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms around them and rolled herself into a ball. The skirt she wore fell down to bunch around her hips as she placed her forehead on her bare knees, and she didn't care.

She forced herself to keep breathing, just concentrating on the air moving in and out of her lungs, keeping back the tears that wanted so badly to escape.

Dorothy wouldn't cry. She couldn't. She didn't deserve to.

She wasn't the one hurt; she was never the one who got hurt. She was always the one that caused the harm. Forever and always, Dorothy Catalonia, Romafeller's Mistress, walked away from everything completely unscathed.

It was those around her that felt hurt, or pain, or death. She'd lived with it all her life.

Her father had refused a diplomatic position with the council in order to remain in the forefront of the battles. His desire to continue to act as General Catalonia had plagued her younger years. He had a family; he had her, at all of six years old. But eventually, she had learned the thoughts of a soldier and had forsaken the naive idea that he only went to war because he didn't love them enough to stay.

No. It was the protective, noble side of a warrior that had forced him to remain at the front. It was that dedication to those he loved, to her, that sent him to his grave. He wanted to protect her, to keep the battles far away so she wouldn't know. So she'd never be forced to know war as he did.

How sorely mistaken he was. She lived, he died.

And her dear, kindhearted mother had been driven emotionally over the edge by the death. She had never understood either. Having never known war, she had probably believed the same thing of her husband, that he had just gone off and died, leaving her.

The fragile woman had ended her own life, obviously driven so far from reality that she believed it to be the best way for her. Protecting her daughter in that society, she'd been quietly driven mad.

Dorothy may have been that docile at one time so early in her childhood. Never after that.

Oh no, the General's daughter had been cursed. She was still alive.

And she learned. Her grandfather was not an emotionally empathetic man, but he was tolerant of her. Dorothy grew, formed by the men of power around her. The women were weak, worthless shells, and she never bothered with them. She would be something better than them. Better than her mother.

But one by one, they all slipped away. Some she tried to hold on to, some she didn't, but they all fell. …Some of them by her own hands.

Grandfather.

She had been the one to form the idea of him taking the lead of the space forces. Even more than the patriarch of the family, she understood the whimsical nature of the fickle men in the senate. And she was well acquainted with the powers of Miss Relena Peacecraft.

It had actually been a simple matter to persuade her nearest beloved family member to leave Romafeller to Relena. She had come so far that her whispers to him were just as strong as her demure words to the others. And she had left Earth open to Relena's voice.

Dorothy had not been disappointed. The words of a single, untainted, young woman had done what all the men of power could not. Relena had formed a unified world nation.

Finally. The last piece of the final war was in place. Her noble Treize would rise again to take the war-minded souls of Earth to battle with those equally impressive souls of the Colonies… destroying all of them by forcing the soldiers to see the futility of fighting to "protect" something else.

It was the hour that her cursed presence was longing for.

But she had sent her grandfather ahead of her. And she had killed him by putting him on that shuttle. No, she hadn't meant to. She never meant to. But what difference had that ever made? She was responsible.

War was responsible.

And if she was going to be responsible anyway, then there was a battleship that needed to be destroyed. What did she have left to worry about? If it all fell around her, then why not? Mr. Milliardo and Mr. Treize would finish this worthless excuse for human compassion and "protection." She had every faith in them.

It had not gone according to her plan. What ever did? No, she had lost her beloved Treize as well. At least Miss Relena had not disappointed her. At least she hadn't been responsible for taking that life. No, Relena was far stronger than she was, Dorothy knew it.

And Quatre….

At least they had both been strong enough that her harm to them hadn't killed them. The other Gundam pilots, and Miss Hilde now, too. They were all thankfully stronger than she was.

Dorothy had honestly believed that it was over. That she had been released when she emerged from _Libra_ still alive. The clichéd phoenix. She had found her little ways to attempt to make amends where she could. And when poor MarieMaia attempted her own misshapen view of creating dominated peace, Dorothy had found her place, and had stood as a protective soldier this time.

She had found the average souls left over from the conflicts, forcing them together as a coherent mass, and marched them straight down the throats of their "victors." She would not stand for someone else trying her patience with talk of peace by rule and another war to end war.

No. She had learned something from her kind Quatre. Protection was passion. And defense was not always the opposite of offence. Dorothy had finally found something that she wanted to protect, and she had truly, finally, become her father's daughter. She just had to learn the hard way what it meant to fight for something more important than yourself.

Humanity would be no better than animals if it weren't for the kindness and compassion that they were capable of giving to each other. Quatre had managed to teach her that.

Dorothy had believed that that was her lesson. Learning it had taken time, but for a year, she had thought that it was over, her curse lifted.

She thought she wouldn't have to hurt anyone again.

She hadn't realized that the damage was already done. Was her curse now to hopelessly become aware, little by little, of what she had done, what she caused? Quatre, Andrew, Hilde. Would their forgiveness actually mean anything to her?

Dorothy sucked in her breaths, fighting the trembling that took over her tense body as sweat gathered on her forehead and back. Still she wouldn't give in. She wouldn't cry. Tears were for those that had been hurt, not the attacker.

She wasn't hurt. She was never hurt.

Damn it! Why the hell not?

She really wished that Duo had come unglued. She wished that he'd snubbed her apology and finally put her in her place. She deserved it. She wished Andrew would have slapped her before he walked away.

She wished Quatre would have stabbed her instead and left her on that damned ship where she was supposed to get an easy way out!

She swallowed back a sob, and viciously threw that thought aside. She was more of her mother's daughter after all. Looking for an easy way out. She was being a coward. She was stronger than this. She just needed to get herself together again.

Dorothy finally picked her head up and leaned it back against the door, feeling a drop of sweat run from her forehead and into the hair at her temple. She stared up at the opposite wall in the dark room, the only light coming through the window from the security poles in the front yard.

The thoughts broke, flooding out as quickly as they gushed in, leaving her sweating and shivering at the same time, numb through the middle. She was getting used to this feeling. The feeling of hollow sorrow, the absence of both pain and joy.

Miss Hilde had forgiven her. Had easily brushed it aside as past history. She should be thankful for that. Yes, that's how she should think. She _was_ thankful for her forgiveness. And Duo had let his own feelings slide, his protective needs ebbing away when she had said there was nothing to do about it now. _"__No hard feelings, Cat."_ All she could do was believe he meant that. She needed to make herself believe that he meant that.

Those that she had hurt may be coming back to claim the apologies that they deserved, but they were also offering her a slow, painful, path towards the peace that she so desperately wanted. One step at a time. One hurt at a time.

She was lying to herself though. She could see that now that her thoughts were quieted down. She may have never been physically hurt, maybe not even emotionally torn to pieces, but she had been hurt. In truth, she was still hurt.

Dorothy bore the brunt of being the only one left.

Only in her family though, she reminded herself. Only through the halls of the chateau. She had collected a new group of friends. Actually, Quatre would remind her that she had also collected a new family too.

The idea was a pretty one, but the reality wasn't quite that neat. She really had no idea what the guys actually thought of her. Quatre himself was different. Their support of her came because of him, not really because of anything that she did to deserve it.

Quatre Raberba Winner. The oddity of her life. Her enemy. And her salvation.

A man that she couldn't stay away from and one she didn't dare get too close to.

If he had been here tonight, she didn't know what she would have done. He would have been utterly shocked at her and Duo's banter and name-calling, and would have threatened to pull her off by her hair again. He would have only gotten more upset with the idea of the two scheming behind Heero and Relena's backs too.

Her sweet Quatre would be appalled with her if he knew what the two had worked out on their boring trip back from Mars. For the most part Dorothy brushed it aside, but there were times last night during her poking and prodding at Miss Relena that she had found herself thinking that he'd be disappointed in her.

She could no longer doubt the emotional hold he had over her.

She would have eventually gotten him to push it aside. More than likely he would have given up trying to be reasonable with them. But if he had been here when they figured out….

Dorothy closed her eyes again, feeling the familiar sting. Quatre would have tried to be the calming voice of reason, just like Relena had been. Actually, he would have jumped into the fray earlier than she had. As soon as Duo's anger came up he would have gone defensive of her.

As similar as Quatre and Relena really were, they had far different points at which their protective sides would kick in. And Dorothy knew that he specifically had defensive feelings towards her. He'd said as much last night in their lengthy phone conversation.

But if things had turned ugly tonight, Quatre would have ended up squared off against Duo over her. And that was something she was not prepared to be responsible for. These soldiers were more than teammates, they were brothers. Whether some of them liked it or not. She would rather be thrown out by the entire group of them before she would ever be responsible for turning them on each other.

Even if it had gone exactly as it did. Quatre, unlike Relena, wouldn't have let it drop. He would have ended up right here beside her, the concerned mother hen. And Dorothy would have fought to keep her composure in front of him. And she… and she would have lost.

The sting wouldn't back down anymore from her eyes and the closed lids couldn't get tight enough to not let the tears out.

He would have just kept talking until she couldn't keep the tears back from him anymore, and when he saw them he would have wrapped her in a quiet hug. She'd try to resist at first, but she would have ended up crying on his shoulder just like always.

It frustrated her, even now as the sheer thought of him sent tears down her cheeks. It was infuriating to be at someone's control. Especially when she knew it.

How he had to think of her by now… it was pathetic.

No, no. Quatre wouldn't see that. He wouldn't find her weak for her tears. He'd simply try to patch up her shredded feelings as much as humanly possible, and send her on her way again, always vigilant. Like a parent with a child learning to walk. You wait for the bumps and bruises to come and then let them go to try again.

And if she were honest, she would admit that she needed that. Dorothy wouldn't have specifically sought him out if she didn't. For all her grand ideals and self-importance, she was still sitting on the floor alone in a dark room, bitter with herself about crying.

Maybe she needed to be told again that she was a sad woman if she couldn't even cry.

She had the impulse to crawl her way over to the bedside table, pick up her phone, and call the one man in the solar system who seemed to actually give a damn about her mutilated conscience. But she wouldn't. Idly she wondered how long it would take before she wore out even Quatre's saintly patience.

* * *

"The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities." – Sophocles

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Extra "observant reader" points go out to Melika Elena! Not only because she flatters me, but because she is truly a great reader and made a keen observation about our dear characters. Thanks to all for your reviews, they are much appreciated and always taken to heart. (especially ones that tell me to hurry up and update! ;) I try, I try! hehe.

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 18

"He did not," Dorothy sat, utterly aghast at her friend, as the two were perched on Relena's bed, a giant chocolate bar broken into pieces between them.

Relena giggled like a little girl in front of her, a piece of chocolate in her hand as she nodded up and down.

It had taken every ounce of patience, and not-so-patience, to get Relena to finally open up and start gushing about her and Heero. She'd spent most of the day while the other was at work, just smoothing out her own wrinkles, and by the time her friend had come home Dorothy had been more than willing to launch into a little game of torture for information.

Dorothy blinked. "Heero Yuy…? The same Heero Yuy…? Not possible," she finally brushed it off.

Relena only continued to keep nodding, still happily giggling to herself.

After a lot of coaxing, and the added sacrifice of one candy bar, she now almost wished Relena wouldn't have told her all of this. Almost. "Who'd have thought he had it in him?" she comically mused.

"I've told you," she gave her a happy little singsong.

"Let me get this straight," she shook her head. "He, literally, broke you out for a night—alone—from your own security team?"

"Uh huh," she confirmed with a nod of her head.

Dorothy was beside herself with these two. "From his own personnel?"

Again there was a nod.

She gave up and snagged another piece of chocolate herself, wondering if she was going to need something a little stronger to get through this. "And what exactly did you two do on your… impromptu escape?" she questioned.

"We went to the park," the other shrugged.

She bit off a piece of her chunk of the bar and stared at her friend. "And?"

Relena shrugged once more. "We just sort of went for a walk. We ended up in the park. It was just really fun to be out."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow at her. How anti-climactic. "You've never been snuck out by a boy before, have you?" she mildly accused.

She sobered as she swallowed down the piece she'd been munching on. "Of course not."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it and Relena immediately took notice. "And I'm taking it that you have?" came the accusation.

"Lots of times," she waved it off. "Granted I didn't have my own personal security team that was supposed to be watching over me."

"Dorothy, should I be worried about you?" the other asked.

Rolling her eyes she shook her head. "Well, I may admit that my nights out were a little more adventurous than a walk in the park, but no, nothing to worry about," she winked.

Relena sighed, "Does Quatre know what he's getting into?"

"There are things in life that Quatre will never know about," she chuckled to herself. Oh, yes, quite a few stories that he just never needed to know about.

"You're going to make him feel like there's nothing new to try with you," she muttered.

She frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Relena gave her a smile and picked a new chocolate piece to nibble on. "Well, how's a guy supposed to feel special?"

"_Does that make me mildly special?_"

The comment paused her a moment. There were a couple times that she'd heard him say something like that. The idea that he wasn't exactly unique to her. She'd never really stopped to think about it like that before though, only finding it odd when he'd asked that last week.

Was she being presumptuous to think that he understood how much he really meant to her? Of course, how in the world could she ever find a way to explain that?

"Dorothy," a hand waved in front of her face. "What's wrong?"

She looked back up, realizing she'd spaced off. "I suppose you could be right," she mumbled.

Relena raised an eyebrow at her, "Have you two ever really talked about… stuff?"

She couldn't help but snicker at the reference. "There have been a few words exchanged in that realm."

"Really?" the other smiled, her boldness having improved significantly since she'd finally filled her in on the more interesting side of her own relationship.

"Unfortunately, our conversations have been quite the opposite of yours," she cut off the other woman's obvious thoughts.

Relena gave her a confused look. "Why?"

"Why?" she repeated before shaking her head. "There couldn't possibly be anything that I could do worse for him than attempt a romantic relationship. And I specifically like him too much for that."

Her friend comically stopped to blink at her, a chunk of chocolate halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

Dorothy gave her a patient smile. "Our dear Quatre has already endured overhearing some rather ugly words due to my involvement with him. Being a Colonist and having an open relationship with a Romafeller is never good for business."

"Dorothy, this isn't business."

She closed her eyes, pasting the smirk firmly in place against the empty hole forming in her stomach. "Whether anyone wants to admit to it or not, Mr. Winner's every move is a business decision. You of all people should understand this." She looked back at the younger woman's surprised features. "Reputation is everything. And mine is black."

"Quatre would never believe that," she stated forcefully.

She snorted, "Of course not. Bleeding hearts always have to have something to champion."

"Dorothy!"

She relented from the bitter statement, knowing she'd gone too far, especially in front of Relena. She didn't mean it. But the whole topic of how people thought of her always brought up her worst side. "He doesn't deserve to have to worry about it," she stated truthfully instead.

She stared down at the bedspread between them as neither one said anything for a moment. Relena wouldn't understand. Just like Quatre, the woman before her honestly believed in the fairytale "love conquers all" crap. Dorothy knew better. She'd seen it, more than once, and she had never wanted to explore that for herself.

"…Shouldn't that be his decision?" came the quiet question.

She narrowed her eyes and raised them to stare into Relena's. "Not if I can help it."

The other went wide-eyed. "What?"

"To be perfectly honest, I still don't trust him with his own emotions. I have stated, very clearly, that he needs to watch himself in that area, and not just specifically with me. For all his worth, he's rather naive."

"Naive?" Relena turned incredulous. "Quatre's not the one pretending that he can just turn his feelings on and off like a switch to suit the whims of the media. You're the one that needs to grow up," she snapped.

Dorothy was taken aback, shocked out of her own line of thought.

"If I followed your interpretation of relationships, I'd be missing out on the best part of my life right now. All you're doing is selling Quatre short because you're afraid that he can't handle a little bad press. Which, in all truth, is something you have no way of knowing would even come," she accused.

For the first time in years, Dorothy felt herself shrink in front of someone. "That's not it," she tried.

"What is it then?"

Baring the full brunt of Relena Darlian in one of her passion-filled debates was not something Dorothy decided she enjoyed… at least not on this particular topic. "He has no idea what damage it would do. I've already caused enough anger and worry in him over this and there's nothing even going on."

"You don't understand, do you?" Relena shook her head. "Trying to tell someone like Quatre what he's _allowed_ to feel would be a hundred times harder on him than anything someone outside of you could do."

"Even if it's his family, his colleagues, his friends?" she listed, knowing he'd already been questioned by a number of them over his involvement with her. "I'm not worth that." She meant it. Especially in the last two weeks, she meant it more than ever. "I won't let him throw away his affections on me," she forcefully stated to the candy bar in front of her.

"Dorothy…" came the worried attempt to get her to stop.

"I won't hurt him again!" Yelling at her, she snapped her head up and glared into shocked blue eyes.

For a moment neither said a thing as she reeled herself back in and swallowed, turning away, aggravated with herself for losing her composure yet again. Relena sat unmoving for a long minute, probably sorting that through, and Dorothy knew what question was coming even before the whisper passed through her lips. "What do you mean 'again'?"

Relena had never known what happened to her on _Libra_ after that final battle started. Apparently no one had ever thought to tell her. Truthfully, Quatre must have kept the whole thing rather quiet because she was sure that there weren't many outside of his protective Maguanac family that knew why he'd come up injured.

Dorothy let the memories flash through her mind again, not bothering to push them back. In truth, she felt like she needed to take a good long look at it again, needed to remember what she'd done to him, and what she was capable of. She deserved it.

She kept her eyes to the side, never looking up as she very softly filled Relena in on how she'd actually become well acquainted with Quatre Raberba Winner. She told her about Relena's own brother's entrustment of the mobile doll systems to her, about her attempts to destroy the Gundams, and about her eventual loss to Quatre's, also ZERO enhanced, strategies.

She kept her descriptions short, but she sugarcoated nothing, feeling that her friend may as well know the truth of her. Finally, she related their physical duel, telling her how he had tried everything to talk her out of what she was doing, and had given everything to try to help her see a better way.

And she'd stabbed him through for it. Vicious and unremorseful. She'd just wanted to shut him up. In her own little war there was no place for kindness or compassion, and she didn't want to hear anyone say that they had seen that in her when she fought so hard to erase it out.

Dorothy was nearly at tears again when she told her that he'd actually asked Trowa to make sure she got out safely, instead of himself. That dear, pure-hearted kindness of his broke her heart to think about even now.

"How could I ever take the chance that something I do might hurt him?" she whispered as she finished, forcing the tears in her eyes to stay behind her now closed lids.

Relena didn't move, didn't even breathe from what she could tell. Dorothy didn't blame her. It wasn't an easy story to listen to, and it was the only time she'd ever told it.

Sucking in her own breath, she added a postscript just for something to fill the void. "By the time I collected myself again and went back to see who was left, you were gone and the ship had been all but cleared out. I managed to collect the bridge crew left behind by Quinze and got out with a group of injured. I do have enough training in field dressing after all," she gave a humorless chuckle.

Still the silence hung, and Dorothy wouldn't have blamed her if Relena called her security guards and had her physically removed from her house. Instead, a gentle hand landed lightly on each of her shoulders and she blinked up to look her in the eye. "I had no idea…."

There were telltale signs of tears at the corners of Relena eyes as well to match her own. "Of course not," she lowered her eyes again from that similar kind expression. "He never made a fuss over it."

"That's not what I mean."

Her hands stayed on her shoulders as Relena leaned closer towards her. "He's really part of your heart, isn't he?"

Dorothy moved to give her a confused look, finding a very odd expression of soft understanding in her eyes. "What?"

She gave her a little chuckle and shook her head before releasing her shoulders again. "I don't know if I can explain this," she paused. "It's the same feeling that I get looking back at the number of times when Heero and I met… on wrong terms with each other."

There was just enough information there for her to take an interest.

Relena sighed and looked her straight in the eye. "He changed you, didn't he?"

It took a moment for her to figure out that Relena wanted her to actually answer that. Nodding stiffly she forced herself to admit to it.

A smile entered her eyes, "He became part of you. That change, that's the piece of him that you gained by going through that."

That actually made sense. She didn't want it to, but it did.

The smile widened, "Don't believe that you can forget that. Whether you like it or not, he's always going to be here," she reached over and tapped her on the breastbone a couple times. "And I'm willing to bet that it's mutual by now."

Dorothy couldn't help herself from rolling her eyes. Leave it to Relena to find sentimental mush in trying to kill someone.

Relena's taps turned into a playful shove at the response. "Stop believing that you're just the worst thing that's ever happened to him," she stated instead.

That got her stomach to bottom out again. Did she really think of herself like that?

"You should start thinking about the fact that he can trust you. Which we all know he does. There's very few of us that these guys can. That's why we stick together. Having you means that there's someone he can be honest with. And having that between you is a bond now, not just a bad memory."

Dorothy actually let herself crack a small smile for that, mulling over the image the words brought up. "He has a nice collection of forty men 'bound' to him. And they know his past better than I do. Without bad memories."

"None of them have your history," she brushed it off. "And you, of all people, should understand the difference between forty men, and one woman," she smiled.

That just struck her funny. "Miss Relena?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Let's face it, these guys need a lighter touch sometimes," she shrugged.

"Words of wisdom from your beloved?" she humorously asked.

"Just an observation," she corrected.

"Of course." Whatever that meant. "None of that makes me feel any better about attempting a relationship with him."

She gave her a defeated sigh. "It doesn't matter. I'm not telling you to announce a courtship. I'm just reminding you that you can't help what he feels, and to be perfectly honest, you can't help what you feel either. I keep telling you I don't believe in this 'just friends' stuff. All you can do is be open to it."

Again she looked away, feeling the same hollow spot come back. "I don't know that I can," she softly admitted. "I don't want it."

There was a lengthy pause, and Dorothy wondered if Relena had gotten fed up with her. But when her words did come, she wasn't expecting it. "Is this really about Quatre?"

She blinked, and then turned back to her. The other scrutinized her a moment as she looked back, confused. "What else would it be?"

"…Andrew."

Andrew. She hadn't even thought about how that mess factored into all of this. Not that she especially wanted to dwell on it. But if she was honest, all it had done was… scare her. "It's not really the same issue," she stated instead.

Looking back, she found Relena's expression telling her that she knew she was lying.

Crud. "Alright," she hissed back to that look. "It may have made me re-think how I… approach things."

"Such as?"

She turned away again, annoyed with herself and her friend. "It's no fun being a 'flirt' if they're going to take me seriously."

She could only sigh when Relena started laughing.

* * *

"_Stop believing that you're just the worst thing that's ever happened to him."_

That single phrase had run through her mind more times than she could count by now.

Dorothy sat, idly watching the scenery pass by the speeding bullet train. Staring out the window also helped her avoid the two Preventer recruits who kept making eyes at her from a couple rows up. The train was designed for speed, not comfort, so there were no private compartments onboard. However the mid-afternoon run was never very crowded, and she enjoyed the mostly quiet interior.

Another couple hours and she could lounge in a nice, hot bubble bath and sulk—soak.

Great, even her inner monologue had Freudian slips.

Oh, she hated this! She was so sick and tired of flip-flopping on her own feelings. She never used to be like this. She would brush things off and let them pass by her without dwelling on the stupid, trivial, little problems that never mattered in the scheme of things anyway.

Granted, that was typically because there was a war going on and she didn't have the time to worry about love lives and sentimental rubbish. Now, she was eighteen, single, female, wealthy, and apparently a little hormonally imbalanced, with nothing to distract her.

She needed to remember to take her calcium.

Now, all of a sudden, boys were actually factoring into her life and she was getting very annoyed with all of them. Who did they think they were? She didn't need them. Dorothy got along just fine by herself.

Maybe she should get a cat. One of those pretty white ones with the blue eyes.

Except that she didn't get along at all fine by herself, did she? Danged men. This is all their fault.

Blue eyes….

_Quatre, I hate you!_

That wasn't really fair, was it? It wasn't his fault that he cared about her. Alright, partially his fault. But he didn't mean to upset her. He never meant to upset her. Never meant to do a blasted thing. If he weren't so wishy-washy all the time she'd have figured this out by now!

Figured what out? That was the problem. What was she supposed to figure out?

She was supposed to figure out what she wanted out of life, and that, as in all good little fairytales, involved true love, a whirlwind romance, and a love affair that would last for all of time and travel down the line of their children and grandchildren….

No wonder the wicked witches were always so annoyed in those stories. Who wouldn't be? You're constantly interrupted by singing forest animals and talking birds. Everyone labels you as evil just because you can't get that wart off your nose. And then you're stuck knowing that the hot prince, who never bothers to show his lazy face until the last chapter, is always going to fall for the sweet, air headed, little pansy of a princess with an apple fetish!

Dorothy: the wicked witch of OZ! There's some poetic irony for the jerks at the greeting card companies.

In her mood she'd probably end up strangling a poor cat.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Oh, for the love of….

Dorothy turned her eyes to acknowledge one the uniformed Preventer trainees that had moved to the seat in front of her and currently looked over the back of it at her, his chin on his crossed arms. "A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn't have such a frown on her face. How about a smile?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, making a production of pasting up her infamous smirk and specifically giving his, fairly-good-looking features, a once over. "Would you like to see me smile?" she asked, her voice low and little sultry.

The man broke a grin of his own. "Absolutely."

Dorothy finally turned away from the window and looked him in the eye as she slowly crossed her legs, her skirt riding up just over her knee. "And do you think you're the one to help me with that?" she dripped just little more into a purr.

The man was as shameless as she figured he was, because he made no attempt to even hide the roving eyes that he poured over her legs at the move. "I'm sure I can, Miss."

_I'm sure that you haven't had enough self-defense training yet if you dare try,_ she mentally quipped at him. Ignoring that, she inched herself forward a little. "I think you are too," she half-whispered. His grin turned lopsided as he leaned over the chair a little farther. "Let's find out," she cooed at him.

"Anything for a sweet thing like you," he responded, his voice equally as low.

No one calls Dorothy Catalonia sweet. "Anything?" she questioned, reaching up to run a finger under his chin.

She knew exactly when his eyes darkened with that look. "…Anything."

And so she pulled back and settled into her seat again. "Good. Turn around, walk away, and I guarantee I'll smile."

She watched him face-fault at the utter turnaround and would have given him an evil giggle to top it off if she hadn't made the promise not to smile until after he left. "But… uh," he faltered.

She raised an eyebrow at him, watching him expectantly so that he would get the point that she was waiting for him to follow through. "You said anything," she reminded him. "Or are you not a man of your word, along with being shamelessly depraved?"

"Hey, whatever," he grumbled bitterly and promptly turned around moved back to his seat.

And as promised, she smiled at his retreating back, mainly for his friend's benefit who sat, wide-eyed, looking ready to pounce on the guy for information.

Turning back to her window, she continued to look out, a little smile still in place. Maybe guys weren't all that bad after all.

A black cat would be a better choice. Especially for a witch. One with golden eyes, perhaps. She could name him Otot. No, no one would get it.

"_Stop believing that you're just the worst thing that's ever happened to him."_

Dorothy sighed, and then grumbled at herself for sighing. This was the last time she was going to visit Relena. The woman was just as bad as the men she knew. Fooy, she didn't need any of them.

…Did she just think "fooy?"

She internally chuckled at herself, trying hard not to let the sound out. Yes, she'd been around her dear Miss Relena too long. And she knew that her Quatre was a little at a loss with the "sweethearts" and the "dearests" by now too. Well, she'd been around Davonte again. She had a habit of picking up speech patterns when she didn't mean to.

Well, everyone rubs off, right?

Yes, that was it, wasn't it? Everyone rubs off on their friends. She was Quatre's friend now. Regardless of their past, or what either of them thought of their pitiable beginnings, he did trust her. And he did care about her, whether she liked it or not. And Relena was right; there really wasn't anything she could do about it if he did.

Fine, then she would be a friend. Heaven knew that the man could use a female in his life. At least one that wasn't a sister. He just needed someone to prod him in the right direction sometimes, and make him crawl out of that meek, polite shell of his. It wasn't proper for a multi-billion credit company president to be so mild all the time.

She was perfect for the task.

Whether or not she was the worst thing that ever happened to him didn't matter. She would now be someone good for him. Yes, that was what she'd always wanted anyway. Why had she lost sight of that?

Quatre Raberba Winner just needed an assertive feminine touch, and she was just the egotistical, mouthy, little witch to do it. She was, after all, the Mistress. No, no, the Lady.

Yes, her dear Quatre needed a friend like her to rub off on him and rearrange him a little.

Speaking of which…. Dorothy pulled out her phone from her purse and thumbed through her contacts until she found the one she wanted. She listened to the phone ring three or four times before the answering machine kicked on. _He must be on a project,_ she thought.

"Davonte Fellentain, at your service. Please allow me to call you back when I'm available."

Dorothy rolled her eyes at the stupid message. "Von. Dorothy. I have a little project for you, and I need it quickly."

* * *

Dorothy stepped out of the taxi again, this time in front of the familiar long pathway. The driver moved to remove her bags from the trunk, and she took a good look at her mansion towering cold and imposing in front of her. The middle section sunk inward, flanked by the outcroppings in the two wings that reached out to her like stubby arms. The roofline was blackened by the eight quadruple chimneys that rose into the sky above the peeks of the top floor's box windows.

The manmade lake that surrounded the back and sides of the property glared back darkly at her, the murky water looking green in the dim sunset. The fog would roll in soon as the temperature cooled even further, casting this castle into the mists that it was named for.

This time she stood undaunted. Gray eyes met cold gray stone in challenge. The Mistress of Romafeller may be gone, but the Lady of Chateau de la Brume Gris stood before the long, stair-studded path to the front doors.

And she intended to bend these bricks to her will this time.

* * *

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." - Frank Herbert, _Dune_

(One of my most highly recommended books by the way, just bear through it until the middle and you won't put it down.)

AN: Dorothy's dog in the Wizard of OZ was Toto, so our Dorothy's cat would be Otot. Get it? Hey, I'm a Kansas girl myself. (I didn't think it was a very good name either.) :P

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	19. Chapter 19

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 19

Quatre was still in his office at seven in the evening, chatting with the guys as Rasid, Abdul and Auda lounged around in chairs around him. Plastic dishes and cardboard boxes lined the front of his desk as the group munched on take-out. They were poured over a list of improvements that were needed at the next resource station, and his "special" refinement crew was set to start there in a few months.

So far they had only made it halfway down the list after four hours, but he wasn't complaining. It was really nice to have the company.

He was surprised when his desk phone rang this late in the evening. His staff was all gone for the day and the switchboard was down by now as well. Whoever it was obviously knew his extension. Rolling his chair back behind his desk, he picked up the line, trying to shush the guys down.

"Quatre Winner."

"Don't you know that overtime is bad for your health?" came a weary, sarcastic voice.

"Duo!" he smiled. Quatre had been expecting a call from his longhaired friend sometime.

"Hey, bud, long time no see."

"Yeah it has," he agreed. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I don't want to sound like the nagging wife but… will you hurry up and come home! I'm sick of waiting for ya."

Quatre blinked. "What? Where are you?"

"Where do you think I am?" came the obvious reply. "I'm making wrinkles in this under-used couch in your sitting room feeling like a commoner in this joint."

Quatre broke a smile to the others who had paused to give him confused looks. "Well, you could have told me you were coming," he accused.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm telling you now. I'm here, you're not, get a move on."

He laughed at his friend's huffy tone and shook his head. "Alright, alright. I'll pack up the guys and we'll head home."

"Oh? You got company, eh? Don't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all," he smiled. Rasid and the others began packing up, having overheard the comment that they were leaving. "Did you bring Miss Hilde too?"

"Sure did," he acknowledged. There was a little shuffle in the background and Quatre made out Duo whispering, "Say hi."

"Hi, Quatre!" came a cheery, feminine voice. "I'm sorry to drop in like this, but I just can't do anything with him," Hilde sighed.

He laughed again as there was a rustle and an incredulous reply in the background again. "Not at all, Miss Hilde," he smiled. "I've gotten used to it."

"I'm sure. Listen, don't rush home because of us, OK? Do whatever you need to. I'll keep him from getting into too much trouble."

She always did. "Thank you, but we'll be on our way. Give us another fifteen minutes."

"OK. Thanks Quatre."

"I'll see you soon," he hung up. "Well gentlemen," he stated to this friends, "I say we postpone this until tomorrow anyway."

It meant they would be staying a day longer than they planned, which seemed to suit all of them just fine, and he certainly didn't mind.

* * *

Quatre drove himself home as the other three men piled into the car that they had come to the office in. The three would be staying with him tonight as well, and it was too late to send Duo and Hilde off towards L2 on a last minute flight. He'd insist that they stay as well, even though he knew Duo would put up a fight over feeling uncomfortable in such a "plush palace."

At least Hilde was along. That meant that he could insist "for her sake." Duo was becoming a true pushover when it came to that line.

Quatre smiled to himself over the two. He'd managed to stay with the pair once while making a quick stop over in their area. It had been the first time that he'd really spent much time around Hilde. The only other time he'd met her had been because they were both in the medical rooms of _Peacemillion_ before they had taken her to the MO satellite for better care.

She had made a fuss over him and their quaint little duplex, constantly worrying if he was comfortable or not. He'd told her over and over that he was fine, and didn't want to be a bother to her. Duo had finally had to physically push her down in a chair and threatened to tie her down if she moved one more time.

She was wonderful, she really was. Hilde had the top apartment and Duo lived directly below her, just across the street from the salvage yard that the two managed. The two worked so well together. They would literally finish each other's sentences, or answer before a question was finished being asked. They fit so well that it was easy to see why they had taken the initiative to stay together after the war.

Not that they didn't have their spats. They were both very headstrong individuals, and neither was used to compromising willingly. Luckily it seemed that they didn't both overheat at the same time very often.

That, and Duo wasn't one to hold a grudge. Well, at least he usually didn't act like he held a grudge. At least not with his friends. Alright, sometimes he did, but he got over it. But then, there was that thing with Heero that Quatre had never been able to figure out the whole story of, that tended to get brought up in random conversations.

Alright, so Duo had his moments just like they all did. He just covered better.

Holding a grudge…. The thought flicked Quatre's mind back to the reason he had half-expected them to show up on his doorstep. Maybe not quite so literally, but it was there nonetheless. The phone call from Relena had prompted him to figure that Duo may just take the opportunity to pop by for a "random" visit.

Quatre wasn't quite over the idea that it had been revealed that Dorothy was indirectly responsible for what happened to Hilde back then. She couldn't have known. Knew next to nothing probably. She had made a tactical decision, nothing more.

But it still unnerved him to think about it. Not really for the thought that she had been behind it, but because he didn't know how badly this had shaken her.

And she hadn't called.

As soon as he hung up with Relena he found himself trying to stay close to his phone. He hadn't let the thing out of his sight for the past two days, wondering if, and even hoping that, she would call. He didn't know how much time he'd spent wondering just how badly it would go if he called her about it himself.

Quatre wanted to be there for her to talk to, but it had to be her decision to talk about it.

But aside from his worry for her, now he had to wonder what was really behind Duo's visit to him. There was a small part of him that figured that his friend would find some time while here to drag him aside and berate him for even keeping a relationship with someone like Dorothy.

There was a slim chance of that happening, but it made him fidget with his own thoughts on how he would handle that if it did come. Did he defend her as he had been in his own mind? Could he brush it aside as the past and ask Duo to leave it there? Could he possibly agree with him?

Quatre knew Dorothy. He knew her. Even if understanding her was taking every ounce of patience he could come up with. He knew in his heart that he wanted to defend her. That he would defend her.

He was one of the only people who would. At least it seemed like it.

Dorothy had dubbed that his "bleeding heart disease" once. He would always cheer for the underdog, champion the oppressed, and so on and so forth.

Well, what did she expect from him?

Sometimes he wondered if that was why he felt so attached to her. She was someone who constantly needed to be pieced back together. Like a favorite jig-saw puzzle that you work on, one or two pieces at a time when you pass by the coffee table.

He hated thinking like that. It wasn't how he saw her. But he knew she saw herself that way sometimes. He could hear it when she asked things like, _"Don't you ever get tired of putting me back together?" _She wasn't an interesting psychology experiment. She was….

She was…. Yeah, that was as far as he ever got, wasn't it? He could come up with a thousand "she wasn't" expressions, but where did he begin with the "she was" ones?

After Miss Relena's call, he had brought up an image of her that he hadn't thought of in a long time. He remembered exactly what she looked like on _Libra_, as he sat against the wall, forcing himself to breathe enough to keep his consciousness as Trowa talked to her. He didn't realize at the time how vividly he would remember that image of her.

She sat on the floor, her hands in her lap, her back straight but her head bowed, her eyes

closed and her hair down her back to puddle behind her like water. She had been so sad, so truly hopeless, no pain could even compare to the emptiness created by engulfing sorrow.

Quatre had no idea why that image had come to mind out of all of the time they had spent around one another by now. But it seemed so fitting.

In his mind now, the image was heartbreaking, but oddly enough, he remembered her as being… beautiful. He had no idea why. It seemed odd to think of her that way. To think of her just physically, and not see her with their ample past history, and her ever-fluctuating emotions and personality.

Instead, it was the classical pale ivory of her complexion. The way her collarbone was just a bit too pronounced when she wore something off the shoulder. The long legs that could not be ignored. Those mysterious eyes that could size up a man in less than a second.

And that waterfall of silk that she wore as hair. If he were honest, he would admit that he probably viewed that hair more hallowed than she did. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd specifically touched it. When Relena asked if he was too chicken to actually pull her away by her hair, he was quick to admit it. It would be a sacrilege to touch it uninvited. Her crowning glory was a forbidden fruit to him, only allowable to her most intimate relations.

Quatre rolled his eyes at himself. Dorothy would die laughing if she knew what types of thoughts were running through him. Alone in the car, Quatre still felt his cheeks warm with a light blush at the thoughts. How did he get to thinking about this? He was supposed to be worried about her.

Actually, he was supposed to be worried about Duo and Hilde.

Crud. _Dorothy, get out of my head, would you?_ He was acting like a love-struck schoolboy with his first crush.

Granted, the term "schoolboy" didn't exactly hold a lot of meaning for him considering that he had been privately tutored since he was three or four. His scholastic training had ended abruptly when his other training suddenly took hold of his life at thirteen. As it was though, if he ever got back to formal studies he would probably be considered a college junior.

The idea of "first crush" didn't exactly have a nice placement in his mind either. In all truth, which he refused to inform Dorothy of, Quatre had never exactly had the opportunities to be around girls of his own age before the war. He still didn't really. Sometimes he did honestly find himself at a loss in that area. He was used to the men and male friends that he was surrounded by.

Great. She _was_ his first crush. He had finally proven her right; he did need to get out more.

But somehow it just didn't seem nice to think of these thoughts as a "crush." Maybe he just didn't want to admit that he was just a little infatuated with her. It was an idea that had been kicking itself around his heart for a while now. But no, he certainly didn't want to admit to that. It seemed far too crass of a sentiment. She was a friend. A very good friend. And he loved her as a friend. That was a better thought.

Except that wasn't all of it, was it? There were feelings that snuck through the cracks once in a while. Sometimes he did just honestly think that it was because she was feminine. Maybe he would someday find that it really wasn't anything different than he would feel for any other woman that he got this close to.

How he would ever get this close to another woman, he didn't know though. No one else could share the same understanding that Dorothy had of him. It was hard to imagine forming a bond with someone else that would be comparable to this.

But there were thoughts that accused him of clinging to her, and her memory, only because….

He sighed to himself, making another turn onto the side street.

Only because he craved that kind of attention from her. Ever since that first kiss, months ago, he had gotten used to her coy flirtations and her bold displays of friendly affection. It wasn't anything special to her, but it was to him. It was something he'd never experienced before. And even if it made him uncomfortable, even if he still could never figure out how to return it, he liked it.

He liked it. He enjoyed it more than he thought he should. It was so different from anything else. He wondered if that was wrong of him. Was he being selfish to want that kind of a response from her? Was he even entitled to feel this way? She wanted nothing to do with a romantic relationship, and he respected that. At least he wanted to respect that. He loved Dorothy as one of his best friends. He honestly had cravings for her presence, and her affection.

There were days and times when he really wasn't sure he wanted to feel like that. But there were also times that he wanted to feel more. And, worse than that, there were times when he _did_ feel more.

Quatre knew the ins and outs of friendship. He understood very well that there were days when you just didn't feel like loving that person, or people, but you do anyway because you know that they are far too important to let minor irritations interrupt your relationships. And that went both ways. There were times and situations that made you feel closer to someone than you ever have before.

This just seemed different. And it always had. With the way their relationship started it wasn't any wonder that he couldn't stereotype his feelings for her into a neat category.

Quatre ended up in his own driveway before he decided his thoughts were going in circles and not getting him anywhere. Pulling himself back in, he walked into the house and made his way to the sitting room, telling his butler that he already knew that he had company waiting. Duo and Hilde were in the room just as he expected, both lounging on the couch, Duo's arms slung over the back of it.

"Finally his highness makes an appearance," Duo grumbled to him, but the huge grin gave him away.

Quatre smiled back and shook his head at the two. "Nice to see you both again."

* * *

"Q, I'm going to skip to the point."

Quatre gave his friend's back a mildly displaced smile as Duo invaded his bedroom after the group had finally said goodnight. He knew when he opened the door that it couldn't have been anyone other than the longhaired man, but he was a bit put out when he'd simply smiled and pushed his way in.

Duo stopped a few feet away and comically took a look around the expansive room, raising his hands to his hips. "You gotta' be kidding me."

Quatre's sheepish smile only continued. Duo and Hilde had both commented, more than a little, when he'd shown them to their guestrooms for the night. His Maguanac friends had laughed as well, saying only that they'd get used to it. He'd simply shrugged, at a loss for how to explain something he'd always grown up with.

Duo shook his head, turning back only enough to give a weary expression over his shoulder. "You're going to make an old thief go klepto, you know that?"

Quatre raised his fist to hide his chuckle behind. "I'll make sure they count the silverware tomorrow," he lightly teased him. Honestly, he didn't like the idea that Duo felt so uncomfortable around such "rich" settings, but he had no idea what to do about it. There wasn't much that he knew about his friend's past, but comments like "old thief" came up now and again, and Quatre had the suspicion that he wasn't actually exaggerating.

"Well, what're ya going to do?" Duo shrugged before stepping in farther and pulling out the leather desk chair, plopping himself down in it.

Quatre only blinked at the display before closing the door and walking over to take a seat on the edge of his bed. "I hope you're not too uncomfortable," he lightly apologized.

"Naw, just not used to it," Duo brushed it off and then intertwined his fingers behind his head, pillowing them on the high-backed chair. "Skipping to the point, bud, I need to talk to you."

Quatre nodded solemnly at his friend and waited, mentally preparing himself.

"Your girl's got me worried," he started. "Now, I know it's not like me, but there it is."

The tiny smirk graced Quatre's face for just a moment at the comment. "Dorothy's not mine, Duo, you know that," he admonished.

"Yeah," the other rolled his eyes. "But you knew exactly who I was talking about, didn't you?"

He nodded, but lowered his eyes. "I figured you were going to loop around this way on your way home," he confessed. "I already heard what happened at Miss Relena's."

"Oh, so you talked to her already?" Duo started. "Should have figured that. Well, good. She OK?" he asked.

Quatre shook his head in response, looking back to him, "I haven't heard from Dorothy at all. Relena called me herself."

"Huh?" he looked confused. "How come Relena called?"

He smiled, "I guess for the same reason that you're bringing it up."

Duo sighed to himself, "Oi. Yeah, you're probably right."

Quatre scooted himself back a little on the bed and brought his legs up to cross under him. His shoes were already kicked off and his shirt was half unbuttoned from when he'd been interrupted by Duo's entrance. "Is Hilde all right with this?" he asked quietly.

Duo blinked, but shrugged once again. "The war in general gets to her sometimes, but this wasn't anything to her. Hilde's a sweetheart, you know that."

Quatre nodded, relaxing a little. "Yes, she is," he confirmed. Looking back at his friend, he felt a little more confident asking this. "What about you?"

"Huh? What about me?"

He tried to give him an empathetic smile of encouragement. "Are you all right with this?"

Duo started, "Hey, I'm not going to start talking bad about your choice in women."

Quatre lowered his eyes again, "Like I said Duo, she's not mine. And truthfully, what you feel for her has no bearing on what I feel for her. But if there's something I can do to not have this between you, I want to do it."

It was a practiced line. Quatre had come up with it as the best way to keep himself true to his friendship for both of them.

Duo snorted at him. "I'm not mad at her. Initially, yeah, I was a little steamed. But it wasn't purposeful, and Hilde came through it all right. I just got to remember that. 'Sides, Cat's growing on me."

Quatre broke a genuine smile. The little shortened nickname "Cat" was as close as he knew Duo got to being affectionate towards her. It was the only endearing nickname the man in front of him had given her out of the hundreds of others. It was really nice to hear him call her that now, and say that she was growing to mean something to him.

"Which brings up the problem," Duo went on. "She didn't have to tell us about being involved in what happened to Hilde. But she did. And I'm sure what I said at the time didn't boost her confidence. Just how much is she really over what happened back then?"

It was a question that Quatre couldn't answer. "I don't know." Looking away he glanced out the window into the front yard and the colony neighborhood beyond. "I really don't know."

"Why do I get the feeling no one knows?"

He nodded to himself. "Dorothy's not the type to easily open up to someone else. The more I learn about her, the more I realize how hard it is for her to trust."

"Romafeller had to have been hell."

Quatre internally cringed at the quiet comment. "Yes and no. You and I would think that, but to Dorothy, it was her home, her family, no matter what happened." The Mistress of Romafeller…. Quatre turned back to find Duo's half-curious expression. "She lost all of it. And she blames herself."

Duo's eyebrows knitted together a moment. "Blames herself? Just how much did she really have to do with that stuff?"

Quatre sighed to himself. "More than anyone ever realized," he answered honestly. "Dorothy is a trained manipulator, and she always has been."

The other snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah she is," he agreed. "Good to hear that you're at least watching for that," he pointedly raised an eyebrow at him.

A quiet smile came to Quatre's face at the thought and turned mildly away towards the window again. "I'm still learning what she's capable of," he added instead.

"Just watch yourself. That girl is trouble, and I'm still not a hundred percent sure she's on our side."

Quatre turned back to him, a bit surprised by that. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Duo closed his eyes, leaning even farther back in the chair. "Some of us aren't used to being team players. If she goes every woman for herself again, I'm not so sure that she's the type to stand by anybody."

He felt his stomach turn at the comment, but pushed the feeling back as much as he could. "You're right," he said instead, calling up every image that he had of her during these past two years, from business to Mars.

"Huh?" Duo cracked his eyes open again.

Quatre ignored it, finding the carpet between them instead. "She's very bad at staying beside someone. She's too independent, just like the rest of us." Looking back up, he specifically found the other man's eyes. "But she'll always be either in front or behind. Wherever she can make the most difference. She wouldn't abandon us."

Duo blinked. "You sure about that?"

He nodded, knowing in his heart that he believed that. Dorothy may not be the best team player, but she was just as good at it as most of them were. Her skills were unique, and her strategies were typically solo missions.

"I suppose I'll give you that," Duo sighed. "She did help us out with MarieMaia, and she didn't have to."

Quatre faltered, the off-hand comment only making him confused. "What?"

Duo blinked at him. "You knew she was there, right?"

"Where?"

His friend laughed at him and then leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes again. "Relena told me this on Mars when I made some 'scary eyebrow' remark about her. It seems your ever-loving almost literally commandeered a freight company that she was used to working with, and went through about twenty of the outlying suburbs of the Capital, rounding up that nice angry mob of ours. And then, of course, she sent the freight bill to the government… care of Relena."

Quatre sat staring at his friend, "What?"

Again the other laughed. "Yeah, I about fell over too. Imagine that, Wicked Brows being all patriotic and helpful. How the hell she did it, I don't know."

Dorothy.

"Although, if we ever need crowd control again, we're sending her," Duo continued.

Quatre closed his eyes, taking in that piece of information. He knew by now that Duo was probably right about the story. It couldn't have been an easy task to find and… "motivate" that many people, but she had. He knew she could. And he believed that it was exactly her style to do just that.

But she had never told him. He had worked with her months before that uprising. He had spoken to her for business only a few weeks later. He'd found it odd then when she had never brought it up. Quatre had expected her to make some grand sweeping comment about their group's efforts.

But she didn't. Never had. Now he understood why. She had been there. Always in the thick of things.

"Yeah. I guess she's growing on me," Duo commented again.

Quatre may have missed anything else that he'd said, but he couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of being proud of her. She had taken her stand, just as dangerous and determined as she ever was. Only this time… she'd been on the same side.

He understood that Dorothy Catalonia would use any resource she possessed now to ensure that there would never be another war. Not after she worked so hard to ensure that hers was the last that humanity would ever see. He had to truly know her to understand that.

"Q, you're spacing out on me." He snapped his attention back up to find Duo's knowing smile. "Someone has a crush," he sing-songed.

Quatre gave a small nervous smile, and sighed, specifically avoiding his eyes again. "I do not have a crush." _I don't think,_ he mentally added.

"Oh? So what do the fashionably sophisticated men call it these days?"

He chuckled at the haughty prodding, feeling himself starting to blush and knowing that was only going to make it worse. "I don't know."

"Not another one," Duo grumbled. "I just got done with Heero, and if he isn't a mess, I don't know what is. Don't tell me I have to give you the same speech. You're supposed to be the easy one."

Quatre blinked, looking back up at him. "Why should I be easy?"

Duo rolled his eyes, his smile still in place. "Come on. What's the deal?"

Quatre turned towards the window again, not exactly wanting to try to explain to Duo something he couldn't even explain to himself. "I really don't know where this is leading."

"Love, a million dollar wedding, cute little blond kids," Duo listed.

And he laughed. The whole idea was honestly just funny. "And their best friends can be the Maxwell terror children?"

"Yip," he snickered. "All eight of them."

Quatre shook his head, "Does Hilde know about this?"

"Oh, eventually," the other waved it off.

He just kept laughing. "You really have a way of not looking at the problems, don't you?"

Duo nodded, a happy smile to his face. "Why worry before they get here? Besides, your biggest thing with Dorothy should be whether or not your poor kids are going to end up with her eyebrows."

Quatre rolled his eyes with a smile. "Don't you think that maybe my first worry should be if I could ever get her to even consider a relationship?"

"What do you mean consider one? You're in one," he emphasized. Shaking his head, Duo mumbled, "Why does everyone I know have the same problem?"

He waved a hand to brush it off, but Quatre knew Duo didn't understand their situation. He was very willing to admit that his problem was nothing like anyone else's.

"Besides, why do you think she's hanging on to you? Face it, she wants ya," he snickered.

Quatre groaned.

"Hey, at least I can't accuse her of just being after your money."

He laughed, "Yeah, I'd be the gold digger in this relationship."

Duo stalled, "You'd be what?"

He gave him an amused smile. "In purely personal value, she's worth about three times what I am." Duo balked, about falling off the chair, and Quatre shrugged, "Hers is all inheritance, mine is mainly still tied in with the corporation. That's why she wanted to invest in something so quickly after the war. Taxes would have been horrible," he chuckled.

"See," he pointed a finger at him, "that's why you two belong together. No one else is going to be able to figure out your bank accounts." They both laughed and Duo just went on, "Besides, she's a fairly classy babe, she's built for a hotshot executive."

Quatre nodded his agreement. "Believe me, I know. I'm still trying to take notes off of her."

Duo clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Good. See, you're all settled."

He sighed with a shake of his head. "Things aren't that easy, Duo."

"Only if you make them hard, bud. Only if you make them hard." He hopped up to his feet and raised his hands to his hips as he walked forward to him. "I still think you're nuts, but hey, she'll keep you on your toes."

Quatre blinked up at him as Duo leaned down and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll still give you my blessing," he winked. "Just watch her close." Turning, Duo swung back towards the door. "We're all counting on you to do it." He opened the door before turning back with a smile. "Because none of the rest of us want the job," he chuckled as he let himself out.

* * *

Quatre sat with the contract's final revisions opened in front of him. His vid-screen showed the pretty face of Miss Jesimae Nickels, as she walked through the changes with him. Her layers of dusty, strawberry blond curls framed around her shoulders as her two-toned, green eyes followed along with the notes she was reading off to him.

Dorothy was right, she is cute.

He did not just think that. Oh, he had to be bored. He should be ashamed of himself.

Quatre very specifically turned back to the sheets in front of him and followed along with where she was reading, although he had the thing almost memorized by this point in the negotiations.

Honestly, somewhere in past two weeks between Dorothy, Trowa and Duo, his mind had dropped straight into the gutter. He had never bothered to spend this much time wondering over women before in his life.

This was the payment he got for going through puberty around nothing by giant chunks of gundanium.

"Mr. Winner?"

"Quatre, please," he responded automatically, before he realized that he'd probably just missed whatever she was saying. "Sorry, I was caught up on something else," he mildly apologized while mentally kicking himself.

Miss Jesimae gave him that huge beauty-pageant smile of hers before nodding. "Feels like we've done this before, hum?"

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and tell her just exactly what he thought of the whole general paperwork issue, but stopped himself. Smiling instead at her easy character, he nodded, "More than a few times."

She shifted on the screen, leaning onto her desk and crossing her arms on top of it. "What is it about men and contracts? I can never keep father's interest for more than two minutes either."

Having met Mr. Nickels, Quatre would be inclined to wonder if anything kept that man's interest for more than two minutes. "I apologize, Miss Jesimae," he chuckled to himself at the stupid reaction. "How about I save us both the time and say that I think the revisions will work out just fine."

She nodded with a little giggle. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Quatre made a mental note that all further contract assessments were going to go through a vice president instead of him.

"In that case, I will work up the final draft and have it sent off to you this afternoon," she smiled again.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"You are quite welcome. I'm sure father will be happy to hear all of this is behind us as well. I will look forward to our next meeting, Quatre."

He nodded. "I will be as well."

"Have a nice day."

Quatre said his goodbye and disconnected the line. Leaning back in his chair he looked at the screen, which had reverted back to the portfolio sheets he had been working on before, and smiled to himself. He really felt like that had gone well.

"Oh, ho!" came a chuckling voice from his doorway.

Turning, he was surprised to find Duo leaning against the frame, and Hilde partially hiding behind his shoulder. "Duo, Hilde, come in," he rose to his feet. "I figured you would be gone by now."

"Well, we wouldn't want to interrupt any important business discussions of yours," Duo snickered. Hilde rolled her eyes from behind him and lightly punched him in the arm as she walked around him into the office.

Quatre looked at the two funny. "No, you're not interrupting at all."

"Ignore him," Hilde shook her head as she walked up to him. "We just popped by to say goodbye and thank you," she said instead, hopping in to give him a hug.

He gave her a mild squeeze back, "You're welcome, any time at all."

"Does Dorothy know she's in competition with this contract chick?" Duo's tone hadn't changed yet, and Quatre was getting rather used to it.

He laughed as Hilde gave her boyfriend a glare over her shoulder.

"If Dorothy had her way she'd be setting me up with Jesimae Nickels," Quatre shook his head to himself, releasing Hilde from his hold.

"Nickels?" Duo blinked. "Nickels Refinery? That blond Resource Manager?"

Quatre felt his shoulders slump. "Does everyone know these people?" he asked himself.

"Yeah," Hilde huffed in Duo's direction as he finally walked into the office.

"Hey, there's no one in the salvage business that hasn't heard of them," he raised his hands in self-defense. "Who do you think I sold the leftovers of the _Romulus_ off to?"

That clicked in Quatre's head. "Dorothy said she'd worked with them for the Mars project," he wondered out loud.

"More than just that. Cat walked a number of things in and out of that place," Duo brushed it off.

For some reason that sentence seemed odd. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," he waved a hand. "Just a couple months ago she brought back the supply ship with all the returns for the unneeded colony exterior sheeting."

Quatre's eyes narrowed slightly at the sentence. A couple months ago…. "Did you get in on that too?"

"Naw, after the _Romulus_, that place had her number on speed dial," Duo shook his head as he walked up to wrap an arm around Hilde's shoulders beside him.

Quatre crossed his arms, "So how did you know she delivered another load to them?"

Duo was sneaky, quick, and stealthy. And when that didn't work, he had an endearing smile and attitude that could typically get him out of anything. But he was a horrible liar, and Quatre knew as soon as he faltered that his friend wouldn't even try. "Uh… well, you know, friend of a friend and all," he chuckled nervously.

"Really? You two can't stand being in the same room together for more than five minutes. But it seems like you… chat?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Well, sure, I mean, we don't really 'chat,' but a guy's got to… uh," Duo trailed out with a moaned curse.

Hilde just burst out laughing. Looking over at him, she shook her head. "They've apparently been conniving together for months," she smiled.

"Hil!" he squeaked.

"What?" she shushed her boyfriend. Turning back to Quatre she went on, "You should have seen them the other day. They were tearing each other's throats out so bad that Relena and Heero needed an excuse to go make more tea just to leave the room. Then all of a sudden—"

"Hilde, Quatre doesn't care, let's get going," Duo interrupted, edging away from the two of them.

Hilde just caught his hand that was still draped around her shoulder, ensuring that he wouldn't slip away, and ignored him. "Then, all of a sudden, the other two leave the room and they turn into best friends on some secret mission to play match-makers!" she laughed.

Quatre took in the story, before turning his attention to Duo, who was doing his best to stay as far behind her as possible. "Really?" he asked.

Duo sighed loudly, slumping his shoulders. Hilde looked curiously between the two before faltering. "Um… was I not supposed to say that?" she half-whispered to her partner.

Duo smacked his free hand to his forehead and shook his head. "She's going to hurt me," he whimpered to himself.

Quatre mentally sighed. "I don't believe you two," he started. "Not only are you both butting into a relationship that you have no business being in, you're ganging up on them to do it."

Duo turned a weary look to Hilde, who wore a rather timid expression herself. "This is why you don't tell Quatre," he very specifically stated to her, completely ignoring the berating. "He's no fun."

"No fun?" he sputtered. "Both of you are going to be very lucky if I don't 'accidentally' spill to Relena what you two are doing. Or worse," he narrowed his eyes again. "I have Heero's work number."

"How'd you get that?" he incredulously asked before rethinking that and comically paling. "You wouldn't."

"Why not?" he asked with a shrug.

"Hey!" he balked. "You're supposed to be the nice one. I tell ya, that girl has really rubbed off on you."

Quatre blinked, immediately relenting on his tease.

"Besides," Duo turned up his nose in the other direction, "you know you like me too much. 'Cause Heero'll just kill me."

He sighed in defeat. "You're probably right. But I want you to stop interfering," he tried as sternly as he still could.

"Geesh," Hilde chuckled. "Quatre, you need kids, you know that."

Duo cracked up, giving his girl a squeeze for the comment. Quatre gave a hopeless sigh and turned back to his desk. "I think I have some."

The two continued laughing at him. "Hey, it's alright," Duo shook it off. "We haven't done anything to them anyway. We're just… curious," he grinned.

"I know both of you too well for that to make me feel better," Quatre added, leaning against his desk. "I suppose I should be happy that you two can at least be civil to each other enough to work together though," he mused. "Miss Relena was actually worried about your fighting."

"She wasn't the only one," Hilde slipped in.

"Oh, Cat and I never really fight. We just… pick on each other."

"Rather viciously," Hilde mumbled again.

Duo shrugged.

Quatre rolled his eyes, "I should have seen this coming."

"Course, if you go and gripe out Dorothy, she really is going to try to have my hide for telling you," Duo lightly sobered again.

"I've already tried talking to her."

Duo snickered again, "Yeah, somehow I don't think she sees you being mad at her as a threat quite yet."

He blinked over at the other man. "A threat? Why would I be a threat?"

The couple both rolled their eyes at him but Quatre stood, looking between them blankly. Was he supposed to be threatening? Dorothy would never buy it.

"Never mind," Duo brushed it off with a knowing shake of his head, and reached over to pat his shoulder.

* * *

"Those who cannot tell what they desire or expect, still sigh and struggle with indefinite thoughts and vast wishes." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

AN: You know, I'm sorry if this was just kind of boring. Getting ready to post this up, I thought, 'that's a lot of paper for nothing happening.' I did cut it down in revisions, but… Oh well, I guess. :)

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	20. Chapter 20

AN: You guys are the best, you know that? I know I gush once in a while over what great readers I have, but I just want to say it again. Although I try to write for myself, I just can not tell you how much your reviews mean to me! I love it when I know that you guys are having this much fun right along with me. :)

On a side note, this story has already surpassed any and every other story I have ever written as far as length goes, and with about 3000 more ideas floating through my head, this could really turn into an epic unprecedented for me. So please, sit back and enjoy the ride with me. I love this more than I can tell you. Thank you for sharing in it!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 20

"Well, which end am I holding?"

"Preferably the one I'm _not_."

"Andrew, would you hold still."

"I'm trying" the voice ground out, sounding irritated coming through the open doorway.

Dorothy paused outside a moment to listen. The Varnhem estate hadn't changed much in the years that she'd been gone. Lady Olivia apparently still had all ten of her green fingers put to good use around the grounds, and the hallways were still as full of the fresh, personal greenhouse grown, flowers as they ever were. And it hadn't taken much for Dorothy to find her way through the familiar halls and staircases once the Lady finished squeezing the life out of her and gushing over how long it had been.

Dorothy had managed to break away from the excitable woman, and had very specifically asked to find her own way to Andrew, avoiding having one of the servers call him down. She knew her way to his bedroom suite by heart, although she had never been officially escorted to it for "decency's" sake.

It was a step back in history to be here.

"OK, got it—No I don't!" the other male voice yelled out just before a mild thud was heard from the room beyond.

There was a moment of complete silence and Dorothy had to cover her mouth so they wouldn't hear her laughing.

"Byron…."

"On second thought, I really don't think we needed to move this."

Dorothy lightly hugged her arms in front of her and slipped up enough to look in. The two men stood at the other end of the large room, obviously maneuvering a huge chest from the office/sitting style corner room into the main area. Unfortunately the chest was now only being held up by one side, the edge that Andrew still held.

Byron Solvana stood, half-crouched next to the dropped end, using one foot to keep it from sliding along the floor and out of Andrew's grasp. The dark brunette haired man grimaced up at his friend who stood with an utter look of abandon.

"Too late now," Andrew observed, considering they were already through the doorway.

"OK, OK, I'm ready. Here we go," he said again, getting some fingers around the bottom side of the thing. "You know you owe me for this."

Dorothy couldn't help her laugh anymore and began chuckling at the pair as she leaned into the doorway. "Some things really do never change."

Both men snapped their attention to her, immediately going wide-eyed. Andrew remained shock still, but Byron broke a grin and pulled up to full height. "Dorothy!" he called, leaving the chest forgotten as he moved towards her.

Andrew let out an audible gasp as the thing moved across the smooth hardwood floor away from him.

Byron turned back, catching the thing with one foot, just enough to stop it from skidding until Andrew lowered it enough to let the obviously heavy thing drop. "Maybe we should have taken the stuff out first?" he tried as Andrew looked up, annoyed at him.

Byron shrugged it off and continued towards her and Dorothy shook her head at the display. But she squeaked as her former teammate grabbed her in a bear hug and picked her up, spinning her all the way around a couple times before setting her roughly back down. Not releasing her, he squeezed her again. "Byron, I'm not a rugby ball," she managed.

"You've gained weight too," he observed.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes at his green ones. "That's because of the added inches," she specifically informed him.

Byron wasn't over a couple inches taller than her, but he was stocky and rather strong for his size. He was easily the most physical out of their group as well, and he wasn't always one to fight fair. "Oh yeah?" he raised an eyebrow. "Around where?" he teased, eyeing what he could of her while still holding her against him.

She gave him a good-natured laugh anyway, just extremely happy that she'd chosen such a good time for this visit. With Byron around… well, bringing up the more unpleasant things should be secondary.

"General, where have you been?" he asked, squeezing her into him again. "We missed you. We really could have used you last season, you know that?" he absently went on.

"I'm sure you guys didn't need me at all," she specifically added into his shoulder.

"We could have actually," she heard Andrew calmly add from behind her now. "Kiwir High really upped their game on us."

* * *

Dorothy sat perched on top of the marble railing that ran along the edge of the back patio as she watched Byron throw a last wave back at them as he made his way around the edge of the house and towards the parking area.

"He really didn't have anything he needed to do today, did he?" she mildly accused, still watching the spot where he had disappeared.

"No," Andrew answered her.

She turned back to him, watching as he looked after their friend as well, his hands tucked into his pockets. He leaned back against the deck table, his attitude neutral, as it had been for the past hour during their random chitchat. It was odd seeing him this way and not knowing what to say to him. Attired in a simple pair of khakis and a long sleeve polo shirt, he seemed only a little older, a little taller, his hair was cut a little shorter….

How did they change so much on the inside without it showing?

He turned back from his own thoughts, focusing on her finally. "He probably figures it's safe enough to leave us alone. At least after he punched me for telling him about our last meeting," he turned away again, looking weary.

Dorothy started. "He didn't."

Andrew added a smirk to his expression before turning his eyes back to regard her. "It wasn't the best hit I've ever deserved from him."

Men really had a weird way of showing friendship.

Comically shaking that off, she turned away, looking out at the gardens through the overcast afternoon. The breeze was gusty and it twisted the little bushes and shrubs, taking the dried leaves with it.

Such a perfect setting, she mused. "I'm sorry, Andrew," she stated quietly. It felt odd to say. Teary, heartfelt apologies had never been a part of their relationship before. But this wasn't then. And she truly felt that expansive gap for the first time.

"I had no right," came the slow response.

She sniffed at the sentiment. "You were right. I ran away without considering the feelings of those I left behind. I deserved to be put in my place."

Dorothy noticed him come up beside her, his arms crossed over his chest as he stepped up to the railing she sat on, the wind ruffling through both of their hair. "Yes, you did," he stated, as blunt as he always was. "But not by me."

She blinked up at him, his height still inches over hers. He stood, watching the gardens, his back stick-straight, his shoulders back. A soldier's posture.

"I hadn't meant to do that," he stated softly, not turning to regard her. "I needed a little sense knocked into me."

"You always did have a thick head," she sighed.

"I lost my best ego eliminator."

Dorothy cracked a smile at the comment. "Well, I tried."

There was a lengthy pause that neither knew exactly how to break. It was Andrew who shifted first. "I tried to go back… to apologize. But you were already gone." He finally turned his eyes towards her to meet her expression. "I didn't figure you would ever be coming back this time."

She felt her heart twist; feeling ashamed of herself for the obvious hurt that he was trying valiantly to hide in his eyes. "I had a few things I needed to straighten out," she made her excuse. "But actually, I've decided that I need some time around here. I've run away for too long."

He blinked, a hint of a sarcastic smile coming to his lips as he turned back to the scenery. "General Catalonia retreating? I don't believe you've changed that much."

She looked out at fall's slowly dying plants. The wind tossed her hair around her with one gust, and she wished she could use it to hide behind. She had never been so ashamed of something that she _hadn't_ done before. "You're far better off without me," she stated as forcefully as she could, but she knew it came out short.

"Most people would tend to like to have the chance to decide that for themselves."

She internally cursed the way her heart stung from the verbal slap.

"So you changed, Dorothy. Did you really think I wouldn't be able to figure that out? I've seen you reinvent yourself overnight three of four times by now. Why was this so different?"

She turned to look back up at him. "What do you mean?"

His dark eyes scanned the grounds as he thought a moment on it. "I remember your father's funeral, do you?" he softly asked.

"Vaguely," she answered truthfully.

"For some reason I ended up directly behind you and your mother. And I don't remember anything else except that you were crying without making a sound. The little girl that I always thought it was fun to spill things on at parties, and you were… distraught."

The far away look to his eyes stilled her from trying to interrupt.

"You weren't the same after that. I'm sure it was partly you, and partly how I thought of you. But it was at your mother's funeral that I realized it." He turned back just enough to look down at her. "I remember wanting to see you, but I forget why exactly. But I do remember that I never saw you cry then. All of sudden, you were… cold."

Andrew looked down, taking in a breath. Dorothy stared up at him, not even realizing just how much of her life had literally played out in front of this man.

"You were touchy, everything got on your nerves, nothing was ever right. For years you were bitter and angry over everything. And then, all at once, you stopped letting things get to you. You started inviting conversations. You… left your hair down to grow out again," he looked back, a touch of concern still in him. "And then that moved to more and more involvement with the senate and your grandfather's business."

It was true. She had made a conscious decision to change, to befriend herself to the men of the council. Following Treize's advice she figured out how to listen, and it worked its way through the rest of her life as well.

"I can't imagine you still being that little girl sobbing in a church pew for her father," he softly added, almost to himself. "You didn't decide to leave because you were worried about changing."

Dorothy sat feeling like she was being schooled in her own emotions… and needing to take notes. She hated feeling like she was being talked down to, but right now she felt like she deserved it.

She had always wondered why it felt like Andrew was always ready to be there, ready to protect her. That "knight in shining armor" syndrome she found so annoying about him when she was perfectly capable on her own. He had been looking after her for longer than she would have ever guessed. And not actually for the reason she had assumed.

No wonder he had taken this so hard.

What did she do now? She couldn't repair what she'd done. And Andrew couldn't take back what he'd said. How could she possibly explain this to him? "Andrew…?"

"I had no right to come down on you like that. I… hadn't meant to."

_No, you wouldn't have_, she thought. But he was her Admiral. Their group-elected superior. As stupid and juvenile as it sounded, no one else would have even thought of confronting her with the blunt truth. Except Andrew didn't want the job. He was too… too attached, too close, to be able to do it without faltering into his own feelings of betrayal.

Had she finally changed enough to be able to see that now? Or were her insights the result of her time being around a much kinder heart?

"Did you just not trust us?"

Dorothy looked up fully at his face as he stared out at the grounds. It was a hurt statement, but his voice and face betrayed nothing. It had always taken a lot for any of them to figure out something was wrong behind those dark brown eyes. Now was no exception. But she just knew it.

And looking up at him, she finally found the words she'd been looking for for years now. "I was too ashamed of myself."

The answer surprised him as he turned back to her. Yes, that would be a surprise for one of her friends. She wasn't the type that would ever say that. But there it was. She had fought and lost and had ended up killing her pride.

"I was too ashamed to come back, to face you or the others," she went on, never turning from his surprised features. "There was nothing left of my life before and I didn't want the pity of throwing myself at the mercy of the leftovers. The remains of the council still coddle over me and you know how much I hate it."

Andrew stood, taken aback, obviously unsure how to reply to something like that. Just as she was sure he would be.

She finally turned from his eyes, finding the swirl of the leaves entertaining. "I do think you're better off without me," she softly spoke into the wind. "But you were right; I put myself as far away from here as I could. I was just too selfish to think that anyone honestly cared enough to help patch me back together here." She sniffed, "I didn't think I needed putting back together. I just didn't want to deal with it."

Turning, she found his eyes again. He moved to say something, but stopped, still confused over her admission.

She felt her expression soften as she finally saw the man before her as more than just the boy next door. "And I certainly didn't want you or the others to think you had to try."

Andrew would have. They all would have. He still wanted to. But it wasn't what she would have needed. Dorothy had needed time. She needed to come to that revelation on her own, even if it did take a mild shove in the right direction from Quatre.

Both of her, self-proclaimed, protectors wanted the same thing for her. Andrew just didn't know what she'd been through to know what these new changes meant to her. Maybe she could have the chance to change that sometime….

Andrew blinked and slowly turned away, obviously thinking through her words.

"I'm sorry," she quietly whispered before turning away as well, and standing to her feet. "I really never meant to hurt you, or anyone else." It nagged at her, ate at her, that she had never known what she meant to him. "I didn't realize."

"My fault."

Dorothy shook her head and turned so that they stood side by side, looking out in the same direction. "You can't help some things," she calmly stated. "I'm still learning that," she admitted.

She heard him actually start to chuckle, and looked up at him. "Sometimes you get the crash course," he smiled before glancing down at her. "Especially with friends like Byron."

Dorothy gave him a smirk back, overjoyed just to see that little smile out of him. "Did he punch you for that too?" she comically asked.

"He threatened," he nodded. "Quite a few times actually."

She broke a light chuckle too, knowing that was probably the truth. They stood together, the mood at least a little lighter between them, for a long moment. Dorothy let her thoughts blow away with the wind, not wanting to hold any of them for just a little while. The random gusts swirled her hair around her and tugged at the hem of the open sweater she wore over her turtleneck.

"When I said goodbye… I meant it," Andrew carefully broke through the rustle of leaves.

She looked over at him, curious.

He didn't return the look, but studied the railing in front of them. "Byron and I are leaving this weekend. We report to Fort Oxward Monday."

Dorothy started. The reasons for his specific visit to her when he did settling in. "The Preventers Academy?"

He nodded, "Closest thing to a military career we get these days. Family tradition and all," he looked back to her. "A three year tour of duty, whatever I can get for individual course work, by the time I'm out I figure I'll have some clue of where I'm going."

He had more than a clue. Andrew Varnhem was always one to know exactly what he wanted and what to do to get it. He was never without a plan or a goal. Fort Oxward was the local Preventers recruiting base. A two month training program and then they would be sectioned out to secondary instruction branches, or washed out. With both of their backgrounds and what she knew of their physical and mental abilities, they would be transferred straight into an officer's training school. Which one would determine how quickly they rose in rank.

"Well then," she mused, "I will expect to see you make Lieutenant by Easter."

He chuckled at her. "Yes, Ma'am."

So he was leaving. Not just her, leaving altogether. Well, what did she expect? They were out of school. If it hadn't been the Academy, it would have been college, or wherever else. Truthfully, she wondered why the two hadn't already left and taken their two-month this summer instead of waiting until now.

This truly was goodbye. Well then, she would ensure that they parted on better terms. "Thank you, Andrew," she stating, looking up at him.

He turned, surprised, to her. "For?"

She suppressed the ache in her heart for this man who had seen her through her whole, ungrateful life. Dorothy only looked back at him and very slightly shook her head, completely unable to put that into words, feeling the sting at the back of her eyes and knowing she wasn't strong enough right now to hold it back for long.

Dorothy watched his eyes go confused, and knew that Andrew didn't understand her well enough anymore to know how to react to this type of change in her. But she didn't care. She was here, and as long as he was too, she was going to finally stop running. "Please take care," she whispered.

His confusion ebbed out, replaced by a soft, uncertain expression. Turning, he faced her, his look almost a tangible display of his heart. "I know you can look after yourself," he stated, uncrossing his arms and stepping in close to her. "But I honestly do hope that you find what you're looking for."

Dorothy stood frozen as his words, a reiteration of the ones he said the last time. But now they rang so much more sincere to her, and she knew he meant them.

When he leaned down to her she didn't move, and didn't resist when his fingers brushed her jaw line, just enough to ask her not to leave. Dorothy didn't move to meet him, but her eyes softly closed when his lips found hers.

It was just a small kiss. It didn't linger. But it stayed with her.

It wasn't their first kiss. But she knew in her heart that it was their last.

* * *

Quatre couldn't take it anymore. He'd had it. It was driving him crazy and he knew if he didn't do something about it soon he was going to end up doing something ridiculous.

So, instead, he was just going to go against everything he'd told himself not to do.

That seemed logical.

Locking himself in, he'd informed his receptionists that he was taking lunch in his office and to please not interrupt him. So far so good. However, it was his phone that he was having trouble dialing. For some reason he sat staring at the vid-screen, the number he wanted highlighted on his menu, but he just couldn't hit send.

Maybe it was just the vid-screen. Too… visual… or something? Nodding to himself he disconnected the menu and dug his satellite phone out of his pocket and flipped it open to his contact list. And again he stopped, staring at the listing. What was he going to say?

"_Hi, Dorothy, I heard you should be feeling lousy, want to talk about it?"_

Groaning to himself he closed the phone again and tossed it down on the paper stack on his desk. What was it about this one woman that always made him feel completely pathetic?

He was typically so good with this sort of thing. If it were anyone else, he was sure he'd know exactly what to do. As it stood… he was stuck.

"_Dorothy, Duo slipped and told me that you've been harassing Relena and Heero. You shouldn't do that. But if there's anything else you want to talk about…?"_

Then she'd just be mad at both of them.

"_Everyone is rather worried about you."_

That would be sure to boost her confidence.

"_I'm worried about you."_

It didn't matter what he said. If he brought it up at all, she would know that someone told him. And he was very sure that Dorothy would not appreciate being "reported on" to anyone, even him.

Alright, so Relena called first, what would she do? Well, besides call him. _"Dorothy, hi. Just wanted to check in."_ No, too obvious.

What would Duo do? _"Yo, Cat, what's up?"_

Quatre sighed and dropped his head onto his desk and laid there. Anyone else would find this extremely funny.

* * *

After talking to himself for forty-five minutes, Quatre left his office, figuring he'd try again this afternoon… if anything worthwhile came to mind. He stepped into the secretary stations and commented that he'd be back in a few minutes.

He figured he might as well grab something from the break room vending machines before going back to third quarter stock reports. Dorothy would say she'd need chocolate to get through those. Well, maybe he'd try that.

"Oh, Mr. Winner."

He turned back to Miss Shanelle as she popped her head around her divider screen. "Lady Catalonia called for you earlier. She asked if you would call her back if you had some available time."

He started, his first reaction to ask the woman why she hadn't interrupted him, only to remember that he'd specifically told her not to. "Thank you. I think I'll just do that," he said instead, heading back to his office with a smile.

Well, that solved that.

* * *

The overcast sky had finally turned into a cold, dreary mist of rain by the time the sun went down. It was a rather miserable night outside, but all of the ballroom lights were turned up to full brightness. Music played loud through the elaborate sound system, although the harsh, modern sounds were in direct contrast to the classical, prestigious surroundings.

Prestigious surroundings that needed a definite makeover, Dorothy decided.

She had returned from the Varnhem's estate this afternoon and informed her butler to prepare the workforce for a total deviation from their typical chores. As of this evening, Chateau de la Brume Gris was under renovation. And her first order of business had been to dismiss every single one of her workers on paid holiday until the start of next week.

She couldn't think with too many people falling over her.

And so she stood, clothed in a tank top and a clingy pair of exercise pants, her hair uncharacteristically braided down her back and her feet bare. Laid out in front of her was a book containing the copies of the building's blueprints, a large sketchpad, and a notebook. She had a pencil in one hand and another tucked behind her ear.

Making a slow circle in her place, she scrutinized the walls and then the intricate, exposed rafters that held up the eight glass chandeliers. Those needed to go. They were vastly too bulky and were oversized considering the relatively low ceiling of this particular ballroom. The only reason the rafters were exposed and carved up all pretty was because someone wasn't thinking properly when this building was drawn up, and they decided later to raise the ceiling as far as humanly possible.

It was an oversight, but the rafters and their carvings were a novelty that she had yet to see duplicated. Dorothy enjoyed unique creativity. But the current lighting bleached out the carving, making it almost unnoticeable to the casual observer.

Picking up her notebook she jointed down her notes on how to move the lighting.

There was an odd rhythm over the sound of her music and she finally picked out that it was her phone, set down on one of the tables against the wall. Dropping the notebook she ran for it, hoping she caught it before it cut off. Snatching it up, she skidded to a halt, flipping it open. "Catalonia."

There was a mumble from the line, and she pulled the phone from her ear to check the ID. There were only two people who she was expecting a call from, and she'd guessed right that Quatre was the first to call back.

Replacing the phone to her ear she starting running for the sound system equipment this time instead. "Quatre, wait just a minute," she stated into the phone, hoping she wasn't cutting off something he was trying to say. She paused the music and the room fell utterly silent around her. "That's better."

"Dorothy?"

"I'm here," she responded before circling around and heading back to the center of the room and her notes. "I had the music up a little loud," she smiled.

"I could tell," there was a little chuckle from his side. "Well, what is it I can do for you?"

"I need some architecture advice," she began.

There was a noticeable pause. "For a colony?"

She smirked. "No, for a two hundred and ninety-seven year old house."

The pause was even longer this time. "Have I ever mentioned that I know basically nothing about individual dwelling architecture? Not to mention that something that old would predate the Colonies? …All of them?"

"Well, the principles are the same," she shrugged.

"Really?" he mused. "And where do you keep your air purification and habitat control system?"

Without missing a beat she replied, "In the basement and on the third floor. They're called furnaces here," she added helpfully.

And Quatre laughed, which was exactly what she was hoping for. Even more than anything she hoped to gain by this conversation, she just honestly wanted to hear his voice, his laugh. Just a little piece of him.

"I suppose that would be true," he eventually agreed with her. "You have a furnace on the third floor?"

"Technically I also have one for the sixth floor too, but it's usually never on."

"Ah, alright. Well, what can I attempt to answer for you about the house?"

"Actually, I'm sort of wondering if there is anyone in the 'family' whose brain I can thoroughly pick on the subject?" she smiled to herself.

"Oh," he started. "I'm taking it that this is an extended project?"

"Very," she answered, taking another look around her. "I haven't even finished deciding where to begin yet."

"Well…" he trailed out, obviously thinking. "No one that I know of has that kind of experience with such an old building. A couple of the guys have some pretty good working knowledge, but if you're looking for structural answers, I'm not sure we can give them to you."

Dorothy silently shook her head to herself, the smile tugging at her lips. He hadn't even batted an eye at the idea that she was asking for help from her adoptive family as though she were truly one of them. Maybe she should try to get a little more used to the idea, he obviously was. "Well, that's alright," she brushed it off. "Grandfather's firm is still in business. Some of his partner's children have taken it over. Well, probably grandchildren by now," she mused. "I'll just have to see about hiring one of them."

"Your grandfather had an architecture firm?"

She blinked. "Yes, he was an architect. He was the one who designed my lovely little cabin. He retired early from his military service. His fortune, you might say, was from building, not exploding."

"Really?" he seemed floored by the idea. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"Yes, well, he sold out to his partner when Romafeller elected him to lead the senate."

"Ah," was the only answer.

Dorothy laughed, half at the reaction and half just because it was fun to have a normal conversation these days without worrying about anything else. "Well, I suppose I should allow you to get back to work. I appreciate the call back though."

"Oh, sure. Sorry we aren't very helpful."

"We each have our strong points," she brushed it off.

"If I may ask, what is it that you're planning on doing?"

Again Dorothy took a long look around herself. "The Chateau has been kept for a number of years without a proper house-cleaning. I'm going to make up for lost time."

"And, as usual, that told me nothing," Quatre half-grumbled at her.

They both laughed at the comment, and Dorothy quietly crossed her legs and sat down on the floor in front of her books, her smile small, but easy.

* * *

"If we must part forever,  
Give me but one kind word to think upon,  
And please myself with, while my heart's breaking." - Thomas Otway

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	21. Chapter 21

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 21

"Package for you, Sir."

Quatre looked up as his receptionist brought a large square box in and set it on the corner of his desk. "Thank you," he told her as she turned and left again. Blinking at the package, he found it odd that something had come to him specifically. Normally everything here went through shipping, and then one of his secretaries opened most of his mail anyway.

Tossing aside the file he was looking at, he stood up and looked down at the package. A personal carrier tracking label looked back at him, his name specifically listed on it, care of Winner Enterprises Inc. Well, that explained why it came directly to his office.

Quickly moving to the sending address he found no name, but the incriminating return address began with _Chateau de la Brume Gris_. Dorothy's "titling property" as she referred to her ancestral estate. For some reason, she never referred to it as home. She reserved that for the beautiful cabin outside of Lago Bonito.

It had been a couple months since he'd seen her face to face. Between times, the two had communicated as usual, mostly email, a few phone conversations. Just enough to let him know for sure that she was doing fine without him having to pry. Somewhere around a month ago he'd worked up the courage to call her just to chat, for no real reason. It was something that the two honestly hadn't done before.

It was that call, when she'd transferred it to the vid-line in the chateau, that he discovered Dorothy had a new addition to her mansion. A tiny, fuzz-ball of a gray kitten had found the vid-phone an exciting new toy. He'd laughed as, once in a while throughout the conversation, the cat would leap up from her lap to the desktop and prowl carefully towards the monitor, just tall enough for him to see him sneaking in towards the camera.

It was adorable, although he finally decided that the cat didn't actually like him, since he kept trying to attack his image on the screen. But little Tiger—as he was named—was more than fond of Dorothy, and would snuggle into her whenever she picked him up again and moved him back to her lap so they could continue on.

He'd found out that she was merely cat-sitting for a week, seeing if she would like to have a kitten of her own when she returned to Lago Bonito. Quatre had smiled at the idea, wondering why she seemed interested in a pet all of a sudden.

But that had raised the question of when she would be returning "home." An answer that she couldn't give since she was still in the process of a number of remodeling projects around the chateau. Projects that seemed rather adventurous for a young lady to undertake for a property she rarely ever visited.

He'd wondered about it, but didn't ask. Dorothy had only volunteered that there were things that hadn't been done to the estate for lack of a woman's touch in the house's leadership. He had no idea what that meant, and she hadn't answered him with anything more specific.

He smiled at the package over the thought. But he was a bit confused as to why she'd sent something to him. He'd spoken to her only last week and she hadn't told him anything about something coming. Well, only one way to find out, he mused.

Getting a letter opener out of his desk, he slit the shipping tape down the center of the box, cutting through the label and a couple stamps that read _Fragile_. He got the box open to reveal a neatly folded piece of foam packing paper with a plain ivory stationary note taped into place on top.

Again he smiled, shaking his head at the obvious care that she'd taking in packaging the item. Tearing the note off first he held it up, finding his full name spelled out in gold ink and Dorothy's best calligraphy on the outside. Flipping it open, her normal handwriting looked up at him.

_Move your wall clock to the bookcase and hang this in its place._

He blinked and reread that again before looking over at the little clock that had always hung in the same spot for as long as he could remember, even when his father had this office. It was centered between the two built-in bookcases that lined part of his front wall, and was basically in front of him when he was at his desk.

Well, he had finally gotten his answer as to what Dorothy always seemed to be looking for when she randomly wandered around his office while she waited for him.

Looking back at the box on his desk, and then up to the spot where she decided he needed some other decoration, he figured that she had done very well at guessing the measurements.

Shrugging, he tore the foam paper apart and opened it up, reveling a stately frame in antiqued bronze with just a hint of scrollwork to accentuate the corners. The coloring was a beautiful match to the colors of the painting it held.

Surprised, Quatre gently lifted the two-foot square painting out of the box. It was a desert scene, dunes of sand rolled from left to right across the canvas in soft colors of tans and creams. But in the foreground, an outcropping of rock was highlighted by what a viewer would assume to be a low, bright sun. The rock seemed to stand solid compared to the impression of the shifting sands shadowed by it.

He had to scrutinize the canvas before he was sure that it was truly a painting and not a graphic print. Light and shadow played around the scene beautifully, and the attention to detail in the lines of the rock formation was amazing.

Leave it to Dorothy to be able to find something like this.

Looking down to the bottom of the frame a little engraved plate had been attached, giving the name of the piece and the artist. But Quatre stared at it, startled.

_Sand Rock_ was printed on the first line, with the name _Davonte Fellentain_ underneath.

Sandrock.

Dorothy hadn't simply found something she thought was pretty for his office; she had commissioned this painting specifically. After the initial reaction to seeing the name that his dear Gundam was derived from engraved on a nameplate, he recognized the second line. Davonte Fellentain was her artist friend, the one who had held the showing that she had originally gone back to the chateau for.

After that little revelation, he looked back to the painting, finding a good number of other possible interpretations to the layout of the piece and the use of light and shadow. Not being sure how much of it was Dorothy and how much was the artist's rendering, he couldn't know what she had wanted specifically put into the scene.

In all honesty, she could have simply said, "Paint a picture that you can name 'Sand Rock.'" But he didn't believe that. Perhaps this was truly a good interpretation of how she viewed his character. But what, and how much, of it would always be a mystery to him, he was sure.

It might not be a seven and a half ton, gundanium alloyed mobile suit, but it did give him a familiar sense of nostalgia. Absently, he set the frame down again and pulled his key ring from his pocket, finding the circular key chain engraved with a W on it. The unsuspicious little thing had originally been a piece of Sandrock's armor before they had detonated the suit.

It was his own private little way of remembering and keeping it close.

Placing the ring back in his pocket, he walked over and gently took the clock down from its position in the center of the wall and randomly found a place to set it on his bookcase. As instructed, he took the painting and carefully placed its hanger over the exposed nail.

Stepping back, he found that the light that shone through the room's back wall of glass accented the dulled finish on the frame, bringing out the colors from the painting itself. He lounged against the front of his desk, finding that it really was the perfect shape and size to fit that spot in his office.

"Oh, how nice," came a remark from his doorway.

Quatre turned to find Miss Shanelle with a group of papers in her hands, admiring the piece as well. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "Apparently Lady Catalonia decided decorating abilities were beyond me," he chuckled.

His receptionist walked over beside his desk, nodding at the comment. The mid-aged lady now knew Dorothy's voice by heart, and the two seemed to be on friendly terms during their random conversations.

"Well, she certainly does have good taste," she decided with a happy smile to him.

Quatre readily agreed as he removed the box from his desk so she could show him the papers. He would have to thank Dorothy properly for her gift.

* * *

"Well, Master Winner. Am I to take it that you received your little thank you present?" Dorothy stated as she answered her phone.

There was a pause but Quatre didn't bother with a hello after that either, "A 'thank you' present?"

She gave him a light chuckle. "For hosting me, of course. Not to mention that you dearly needed a change of scenery in that office." She lightly stepped through a grid of chalk lines on the entryway floor, not wanting to disturb them in case her designers still needed the measurements.

"You know better than to think I wanted something in return, don't you?" he asked.

Her dear Quatre was learning. His conversations with her were beginning to skip some of his usual polite formalities. "Yes, I know. But I wanted to do something," she confessed.

"Well, I certainly can't complain. Dorothy, it's beautiful. Thank you."

She smiled, proud of the painting herself. "You're very welcome. I'm glad you like it. Did you hang it where I told you to?"

"Of course. I know better than to second-guess you."

"You're learning, Master Winner."

He chuckled at her. "So… how did you get him to do it?"

Dorothy smiled, "So you did recognize the artist name. I should have known. You're too good with that sort of thing."

"Thank you, I try," he mumbled.

"Truth be told, poor Davonte is a little worried about it. He's never painted something under such scrutiny before. He was ready to lock me out of his studio for a while." Moving a rolling cart out of the way, she sidestepped through several packages of sheetrock.

"Then please tell him it's fantastic."

"I will," she agreed. Finally reaching the other side of the mess, she walked up the darkened staircase. "Know anyone who needs a job in construction work?" she wearily asked, eyeing the blue chalked lines along the plaster at the second floor landing. "My little project has taken on a life of its own."

"Have your architects finished their assessment?"

"Assessment?" she snorted. "More like demolition. I knew I should have done this in smaller increments," she sighed and continued up to the third floor. "I've officially given up any grand changes above the second floor. I don't think I can take it."

"Still looking for bids on the remolding?"

"No, now I'm just looking for anyone who can do it before spring," she grumbled. "Everyone is booked solid with holiday remodels and then the "after holiday" remodels. My grandmother is haunting me for deciding to rip out her ugly tile in the entrance."

Quatre chuckled at her. "Changing out tile doesn't sound like something worth coming back from the grave for."

"You didn't know my grandmother," she shrugged, entering the family apartment. Dorothy pulled up short in the common living space of the West wing's outcropping. The bedrooms circled around this area, allowing no room for windows, but the faux candlestick chandelier softly illuminated the couches and coffee table set in the center of the area.

She heard him laugh again, and shook off the feeling that always hit her. Two months and it still took an effort for her to walk in here sometimes.

"Well, I'm sure something will turn up," he commented, bringing her back to the conversation. "I should probably let you go. It's getting late there isn't it?"

Dorothy smiled, "I hope you don't believe that I go to sleep at ten o'clock."

"I'm not sure I want to know what your bedtime is, Lady Catalonia."

Yes, poor Quatre had officially spent a little too much time around her. "Probably true," she agreed. Stepping in she closed the outer doors behind her and walked in towards her bedroom. She paused again though; looking back at the central, double doors next to hers. "Quatre… may I ask you something?" she softly started.

"Of course," he seemed to pick up on the change in her voice.

Dorothy slowly walked over to the double doors and quietly opened them both to the light from the chandelier. The room was laid out before her… exactly as it always had been. "You don't need to answer this if you don't want to," she added, feeling timid about bringing this up for him too.

"Dorothy? What is it?"

Well, she'd already said it, she was stuck now. "I can't seem to bring myself to go through my grandfather's things. I've walked by his bedroom for months now and I just can't seem to do anything. It's been over two years… how long does it take to make this easier?" she wondered almost to herself.

The silence that greeted her was a little unnerving. Mentally cussing herself out, she wanted to take that back, knowing that Quatre probably still had issues with his father's death during the war too. Why had she brought that up now of all times?

"I don't know," he finally answered. "A few of my sisters went through the majority of father's things, sorting out business information from personal items. I helped a little, but I wasn't here much back then." He seemed to sigh, "I haven't cleared out his room either."

Dorothy let herself relax. She didn't hear any hurt to his voice, just a little sadness. At least he wasn't upset with her for bringing it up.

Walking in, she flipped on the light in the room, something she hadn't done before, and casually walked over to take a light seat on the bed. "Does that just make us too sentimental?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I think mine is more the fact that I'm scared of what I might find," he confessed.

She quietly scanned the sparse room. "Well, I know that isn't my problem. Grandfather kept next to nothing."

"Maybe you just want the things to remember him by," he offered.

That didn't sound right either, but she shook it off. "Maybe. But I do think tomorrow is going to be the day."

"To clean it?"

"Yes," she confirmed, to herself as well as him. "There are a number of things that I've put off far too long. This is one of them."

Quatre paused. "This remodeling really isn't about the house itself, is it?" he quietly asked.

Dorothy smiled into the phone. She was sure that he'd figure that out some time or other. "No."

"I wondered."

"Do you think it's odd?"

"Not at all. You're asking someone who wanted to build a colony, remember?"

Dorothy blinked, confused. "You took on that project for… some other reason?" she asked, not knowing how to say that exactly.

He chuckled at her. "Of course I did. It was also a good business decision, though."

The idea seemed a bit shocking to her, but she didn't know why. Quatre had been through everything, far more than she had, she supposed it made sense for him to want to give back once the war was finally over.

"Are you all right, Dorothy?" he asked. It wasn't accusatory, just a soft inquiry. "You've never seemed to care much for the place, but you're spending a lot of time there now."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't want to let on that the show of concern was wasted on her. "I'm fine, dearest. I've been back home several times on the weekends when I could. And this place is growing on me again. It's just hard to appreciate it with the mess I've been making."

Quatre paused, probably considering her words, "I understand."

She relented a little from her words as she ran a hand over the bedspread, noting the dust that had collected on top of it. "There are just a lot of memories to sort through."

* * *

Quatre hung up his phone at the end of the conversation and turned his chair back to his desk from the view of the colony outside his window. Pulling up his appointment calendar, he wrote down three names on a notepad along with the word "reschedule." That finished, he opened his contact window and dialed the number he needed.

* * *

The morning was crisp and cold as the sun shone dully through the hanging haze that seemed to play in the shadows of the building that they pulled up in front of. Opening the door and stepping out of the taxi, Quatre stared up at the mammoth rock fortress of a mansion.

The Chateau de la Brume Gris, or the Chateau Dermail as the cabdriver had said the locals called it, sat on a sloping hill probably fifty yards off the manicured rock drive. A wide pathway stretched up to the main doors, which were shaded by the two outcroppings coming off of the wings. The building rose six stories, with a seventh level of rooms over the main areas and the turret style sections at the very tips of the wings.

He had expected it to be huge, and rather impressive, but this was actually imposing. Even the pathway was studded in certain measurements with low steps, forcing the visitor to feel as though they were climbing towards a higher plane just to get in. A pond, or moat, could be seen from here as wrapping around both sides of the property, forcing individuals to feel closed in by this presence of a building.

Quatre was beginning to doubt that his surprise visit was a good idea. He silently wondered if he was going to burst into flames the moment he stepped foot onto Romafeller's hallowed ground. Or if the ghosts that haunted this castle would even allow him through the front door.

There was a whistle of admiration from behind him. Turning, he found Abdul leaning against the still open taxi door, his sunglasses falling down his nose as he gaped at the building. "Yeah, you first, Master Quatre," he reached over the door and poked him in the shoulder a couple times towards the pathway.

Well, at least he hadn't come alone.

* * *

Dorothy stood back and admired her wall. The section had five different shades of reds and burgundies on it in two foot sections. Dropping her brush in a tray of water, she stood back to try to decide on one color out of the grouping.

Anything had to be better than that mud brown she was covering up.

"Lady Dorothy, there are guests here to see you."

She spun around to her butler, and then did a quick look at herself. Attired in her, now infamous, workout pants and a vastly oversized school sweatshirt, she was anything but presentable, and her hands were even smudged with different paint colors. "Oh dear," she mumbled. "Who is it?" she asked quickly, jogging back to the water tray to at least rinse the paint off her hands.

"A Mr. Winner."

Dorothy had to catch the tray before she knocked it off the makeshift stand it was perched on. "What?" she squeaked.

Her poor butler blinked back at her. "I informed them I was not sure if you were available. Should I send them away?"

"No, no," she rushed. "It's fine. Thank you. Receiving room?" she asked over her shoulder on her way out the door.

She got a displaced acknowledgement from him as she took off at a run for the stairs. She made a mental note to give the poor man a raise after all of this was over.

Dorothy was down the stairs and onto the main floor before her excited thoughts of why and how he was here caught up with her and forced her to slow down. He'd said _guests_ here for her. So Quatre wasn't alone. Could some of the guys have come with him? Could he have brought someone else?

Someone who would probably wonder at her unsightly appearance? Well, oh well. She figured she had a good enough excuse.

Just in case, she paused around the corner from the entryway to the receiving room and quickly untied her hair, letting it loose. Deciding that was all she could do for the moment, she stepped around the hallway and paced gracefully into the room.

To be greeted by a loud round of enthusiastic calls. She blinked, quickly counting ten men standing before her. Dorothy didn't have the time to figure out what or how as she was immediately snatched up, hugged, slapped on the back, passed around, hugged again, picked up and moved, patted on the shoulder and eventually let go of.

She vaguely tried to keep up with the hellos and comments but lost all track of what was coming from whom until she felt a gentle hand take hers and raise it up. Dorothy turned to her side where Quatre bowed a bit to peck a kiss on her hand, shaking his head at the group.

"Do I dare ask what the occasion is?" she raised an eyebrow as the others died down as well.

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, you said you were having trouble finding a construction crew for your projects."

She started, looking back at the group of Maguanacs. "I didn't mean for you to take that as a hint to pull these guys off of the Resource Stations."

"We were between jobs anyway," Abdul happily put in, as he leaned against Ahmed's shoulder.

"And going stir crazy," Manul added.

She gave him a smile specifically, happy to see that all of "her" four members were here as well.

"And they said they would be happy to volunteer," Quatre finished.

Turning back to him she couldn't help but shake her head at the display. "I really don't want to make you guys feel like you need to. Besides, you have no idea what you're going to be getting yourselves into." How in the world did he expect her to take him up on this?

Quatre waved it off. "They were the ones that jumped on the idea. Besides, by the time the others get here, I'm sure we'll be able to come up with a good course of action."

Dorothy paled. "Others?"

He gave her a mischievous smirk and the rest only cracked up laughing.

* * *

By noon a second group of Maguanacs, headed by Auda, had arrived on her front step. And Dorothy had officially given her butler the rest of the week off, promising to pay for a nice retreat house out of town for him.

He had been the only one of her staff that was still working anyway. Her servants, cooks and other maids had been given leave just to escape the mess of the place, and now she wasn't exactly sure what to do with herself either.

The group had basically moved in. Luggage and bags were still just haphazardly piled in the receiving room, equipment bags were opened and scattered throughout the ballroom. It was the largest area, and had become the makeshift command center.

Quatre had connived her out of her copies of the architect's layout sheets and had taken the lead on sectioning out the projects, walking through each with her, whether she wanted to or not, while a group of the men started in on it around them. When she wasn't attempting to keep up with them, her phone was glued to her ear as she quickly made the arrangements at the local hardware and supply stores.

She also found that half of the group had come straight from L4, picking Quatre up on the way after they'd finished a full day there. They hadn't even been to bed yet. The second group came from one of the L2 stations and in a little better shape time-wise.

However, the third group was still en-route from the Maguanac base here on Earth with Rasid at the helm. And Dorothy was ready to find a corner just to hide in.

The guys were adamant about helping, and they seemed rather sure of themselves with most of the proposed projects. Easier items like painting or sheetrocking were already progressing along as fast as she could make up her mind about color or texture. What she had estimated taking two months to make final decisions on was now down to a matter of hours.

When she took a chance to breathe for a few minutes, she stood in awe of the group around her. She could tell immediately just how well they knew each other and that they had often worked together before. Communication was easy and lighthearted, laughter literally echoing through the typically dreary halls.

Stepping back into the ballroom, she sidestepped a pair of guys carrying out a board and then slipped under another one being carried over a second pair's heads. They chuckled at her and she returned it, figuring that if nothing else they were fun to have around.

She caught Quatre stifling a yawn as he continued to pick through the sheets and her notes. "You guys can't do this all in one day," she commented. Lacing her hands behind her back she leaned over his shoulder to scan his piles of items.

"I'm just hoping to get this sorted," he stated. "This is your pile, by the way." He slid a stack of sheets her way.

She blinked at them. "Oh? And what's all this?"

"Things we can't do until you make your decisions."

Dorothy sighed at the stack, flipping through the sheets. "You guys could have at least warned me, you know that?"

Quatre laughed, finally turning fully towards her. "I hope you don't think this was presumptuous."

"Extremely," she refuted him, but gave herself away with a smile. "But I am thankful… I think," she muttered to herself. "But not all of this is going to be easy. I don't want to trap you all into this."

Quatre shook his head. "The others have very specifically decided to do this for you, no matter what it takes. Personally, you only get me until Wednesday. I can't back out of the board meetings for the quarter," he grimaced.

"Oh," she patted his shoulder. "Those nasty Directors still nagging at you?" she asked, speaking as she would to a toddler.

Giving her an annoyed look, he turned back to the table. "It doesn't matter what I do, they don't like me."

"You know my solution for that," she shook her head and started into her pile.

"I can't fire them, Dorothy. They've been there for years. They know more about the company than I do."

It was a rather typical argument, and one that she knew she would probably never win. Quatre still refused to really take control of the corporation. He seemed afraid to move anything, disturb anything.

And she figured she knew why. He was keeping it just the way his father had left it. His own position, though he hated it, he wouldn't change either. It was as if part of him expected that his father would someday just randomly walk back in and take over.

Not that she would ever bring that up with him, of course.

Especially after this week. Dorothy knew exactly why he'd chosen to bring her little plight to the rest of the guys. She'd slipped and talked about going through her grandfather's things. She had no doubt that he was worried about her, and this was his excuse to make sure that she wasn't alone.

Well, the boxes were already sorted and piled, and she had actually accomplished it with a lot less heartache than she would have expected. It had been rather liberating actually.

She assumed that Quatre hadn't had that type of feeling yet. And so, she would pick on him, lightly as always, figuring he'd slowly get used to the idea and move on. It was just her way of being helpful. Much like the painting. It was something specific to him gracing those recycled walls, not his father, or grandfather, or who knew who else.

"They know more about the company _history_ than you do," she went on. "Not one of you can read the future, dearest. They are no more insightful than you are," she stated, flipping through papers and turning to slouch against the table. "If they're not going to respect you they deserve to be fired. Make an example of them."

"…You're positive you don't want to come work for me?" he sighed. They both laughed and he shook his head.

Dorothy shrugged. "Sure, I'll come take over your Human Resource department for a couple weeks. I'll weed out everyone you don't like, and then leave, and you can blame it all on me."

Quatre rolled his eyes. "You enjoy being the devil's advocate, don't you?"

Leaning over, she blocked his view of the charts he was working with, and narrowed her eyes up at his. "For you, Darling, I try my best."

He smiled at her. Then, taking a covert look around them to make sure the others were busy, he stepped in a little closer. "I've missed you. And I still can't figure out why."

Dorothy gave him her best smirk and batted her eyelashes up at him.

* * *

"The excellence of a gift lies in its appropriateness rather than in its value." - Charles Dudley Warner

Proofed by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	22. Chapter 22

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 22

"Sweetheart, these guys aren't going to forgive me if I kill you," Dorothy resignedly advised him.

"Lack of sleep hasn't killed me yet," Quatre refuted her.

"'Yet' is a key word, dearest."

He sat on the opposite end of the sofa, using the coffee table in front of them as a desk as he spread out the ever-present design sheets, plus her notes, plus his notes, and the architect's notes. The man needed professional help.

Everyone else had found rooms down the hall. The third floor housed the much more plush guestrooms and only held twenty-four per wing, but that was enough to let the guys spread out as much as they wanted. Besides, the guestrooms on the upper floors hadn't been touched in years, and she had no idea what sort of shape they were in bedding-wise.

Quatre and Rasid had decided on bunking in with her in the family apartment, mostly so that everyone knew where they were. The two men had thrown their luggage into the two rooms opposite from hers, and she couldn't say she minded. It was nice to feel like the place was full again.

Dorothy sat, curled into one of the central living room's sofas opposite Quatre, paying more attention to him than she was to the growing list of supplies and equipment they needed. The evening was still relatively young, but she had demanded that everyone break for dinner and then get some rest, considering no one was functioning on the same time zone.

Rasid and the others from the desert base were still wide-awake and down the hall doing who knew what. But Quatre and the other L4 members of the group were especially at wit's end, and she knew better than to put construction equipment into hands of tired men. Except of course that Quatre was just as dangerous with a pencil at this point in time and she couldn't get him to turn in.

"You realize that this will still be here tomorrow," she intentionally nagged at him.

"I'm almost done," he mumbled, denoting that he had officially tuned her out already.

Well, apparently Master Winner didn't realize that that was not a nice thing to do to a young lady, who was only concerned about his health and well being… or in this case, her. She could fix that. "I think I changed my mind about the stairway wall."

"…What?" he shook himself out of his thoughts to finally acknowledge her.

"I think I'd rather go with all new sheetrock and trim boards," she stated, scooting over next to his side and flipping the design book all the way back to the first sheets. "But that means we'll have to redo the hallway and landing area to match."

He sat, a bit stunned for a moment, but she completely ignored it.

"Oh, and the dinning room, the study, the second den, and the ballroom should be incorporated to match. They're the only places anyone goes anyway," she shrugged. "The dinning room's already been painted though, so we'll have to wait a day or so before tearing up again."

"Tearing it up?" he asked.

"Well the wall texturing is wrong," she gave him a specific look.

He blinked back at her, and then down at the sheets, obviously put out with the fact that she had just completely rearranged his nice, neat little list of tasks, in essence making everything they accomplished today a huge waste of time. "…Alright."

Alright? Alright! Was the guy nuts? If she were being serious she'd slap herself for it. She gave him an annoyed look as he stared down at his notes, slightly crestfallen. "And I want everything pink with stars."

He started, looking over at her. "You're not actually serious, are you?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes and groaned out a sigh. "No."

"Oh, thank you," he sighed, beginning to flip the pages back to where he was. "For a second there, I was worried."

"And you still didn't tell me no," she grumbled at him.

"Who am I to say no, it's your house," he defended, going back to his notes again.

"Gundam pilot and he's afraid of confrontation," she mumbled.

"I am not."

Dorothy tucked her legs under her and leaned against his side, reaching out and snatching his pencil out of his hand, mid-sentence. Flipping the whole book closed, she stretched her arm out in the other direction, dangling the pencil out of his reach. "You get this back in the morning, do I make myself clear?"

He sat shocked at her, trying to inch back a little, considering she was staring him down nose-to-nose. "Dorothy, I'm only trying—"

Pushing away, she bounced to her feet. Holding the ordinary pencil like a prized capture, she planted her other hand on her hip, giving him a visual dare. "Don't make me put you to bed again," she smirked.

His expression went from shocked to bitter as he looked up at her. "You wouldn't find it as easy this time."

Wrong move.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes at him, and moved her hand to let the pencil lay exposed on her open palm. "Take it back then."

He visibly wilted and then raised a hand to rub at his temple. "Dorothy, please. If you would have just let me finish, I could be asleep by now," he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes at the comment, about ready to do something extremely rude to him with a pencil.

Dorothy noticed him move a second too late to do anything about it. His left hand came up under hers, slapping it up and launching the pencil from her palm before she could snatch it back. At the same time, his hand cut back against her side as she felt her feet get kicked out from under her, forcing her to land back on the couch. She was just quick enough to watch his other hand snag the airborne pencil on its way back down, and realized that he was now standing over her as she half laid, half sat on the sofa.

"You were saying?" he asked, a playful spark of fire to his eyes.

"You cheat!" she whispered, shocked beside herself at the uncharacteristic ruse.

He seemed to only half relent. "You keep telling me that I lose my 'polite inhibitions' when I'm tired. Since when has that become a bad thing to you?"

"Since you did it to me," she grumbled. Of all the sneaky, manipulative…. Crap. He really had been around her too much.

"Oh," he gave her a patronizing look. "You always think you're special."

She turned away from him, a hurt look to her. "Well, I thought I meant something to you."

"Oh, don't," he chuckled shaking it off.

"Fine," she huffed at him, sitting up straight and losing her little hurt pout. "See if I try to be nice to you again."

"You know, for all of your ploys, you're getting predictable," he commented, sliding back down to sit next to her.

Second wrong move.

"Really?" she turned a glare towards him, locking her eyes on his as she swiftly grabbed the pencil out of his hand that he had apparently forgotten about. "Says who?" she raised an eyebrow.

He gave her an incredulous gasp for the betrayal, before opening his hand up and looking at the nicely drawn pencil line streaked across his palm. "Ow," he half-enthusiastically complained.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she breathed, reaching back over to make sure she hadn't broken the skin.

Only to have him move at the last second and steal the pencil back.

It was her turn to go incredulous on him. "You can't fake an injury," she cried.

"Who's faking?" he asked, finally tossing the pencil down on the coffee table out of both of their reach and lightly rubbing his hand along his pants leg before bringing it back to up to find a neat little red line.

She sighed at him, discouraged by the whole situation. Scooting around, she tucked her legs under her again, and turned into his side, reaching over and taking his hand. "You're a snake," she still complained as she examined the line.

"I fight as fair as you do," he shrugged. Moving his arm that was trapped between them, he leaned into her as well, propping his head up with it on the back of the sofa.

"That's not something you're supposed to aspire to, dearest," she joked, finding the injury absolutely harmless. She began to pull away when his hand took a hold of hers instead.

"Well, I have been accused of being around you too much."

"I'm beginning to agree with that," she sighed.

She noticed him mildly cringe. "Sorry. I wasn't sure how willing for the help you'd be," he stated softly.

Dorothy pulled back enough look at him, confused, before her own words dawned on her. "I didn't mean it like that," she quickly refuted him. Poor Quatre, he was tired and taking things the wrong way. "You guys have my debt of gratitude for this."

He gave her a smile and a light chuckle for it. "You're more than welcome."

She gave him a suspicious look, narrowing her eyes at him. "You didn't come all this way to take down my chandeliers though, did you?"

Quatre seemed a little surprised at the conversation change, but softened into a displaced smile. "Well, you needed the help…."

She sat, simply waiting for him to try to continue with the line.

And his expression gave her a nervous twitch before he sighed and turned away. "Alright. So, I may have had an ulterior motive," he confessed.

"My, how sordid of you, Master Winner," she teased.

"Can you really blame me?" he quietly asked, not taking up her toying tone.

Dorothy mentally rolled her eyes. What did she have to do to prove to people that she was not made of glass and could worry for herself, without their help, just fine? "Yes, I can blame you for ruining your health worrying over me of all things."

"You should know that that's not going to get me to stop," he commented.

"I know," she shook her head. "But I'll find a lot of ways that don't work."

Quatre chuckled and gave her a smile for it, and she couldn't help but feel happy that he was here. For once, this old palace didn't feel like the cold mausoleum she'd come to see it as. And she knew that was exactly what he had been hoping for by coming. Quatre had an uncanny way of reading people, but she was getting much better at understanding the way his brain worked.

He was specifically giving her a set of happy memories in a place were she was being haunted by the bad ones. Sweet Quatre. Only he would think of that.

Dorothy leaned in, laying her cheek against his shoulder and snuggling into him. There was no reason she couldn't be happy with this.

She felt him shift as his arm moved to wrap around her shoulders, hugging her to him. He moved his chin to lean against the top of her head and she smiled at the thought of the picture they made. The guys would tease them mercilessly for this if anyone walked in.

"Tell me you're all right?" she heard him whisper into her hair.

Dorothy opened her eyes at the question. "Why wouldn't I be?"

There was a pause, and she couldn't help having a familiar sense that there was something deeper to his emotions. Perhaps she was being a bit too snuggly. It didn't suit her to seem so needy.

"It's always hard for me to know how much something means to you," he seemed to carefully start back in. "But I also know better than to take your words at face value sometimes."

She could hear the smile in his voice and she snickered at the reference. "I'd make a lousy negotiator for you if I wasn't good at that."

"I know," he seemed to nod. "But I just really want to know that you're OK with everything. You've taken a lot of time away. Not that I'm saying that's a bad thing at all. I'm sure it's what you need. But I… I just want to make sure."

She knew what he really meant. She hadn't talked to him about seeing Andrew and Byron again. And she was sure that he was concerned that she was hiding things…. Well, she was, but he really didn't need anything more to worry over. "Quatre, you're going to give yourself an ulcer," she commented instead.

There was a dejected sigh. "Goodnight."

She laughed and wrapped both arms around his waist as he tried to get up from the couch, and pulled him back down. "Alright," she began as he wrapped both arms around her again and settled back, looking down at her shorter posture. She found his eyes, softly scrutinizing her, "I'm fine. Some things get to me now and then, but everyone has that. I'm finding that it's just going to take some work to make peace with myself."

Quatre slowly nodded.

Letting her eyes drop away from his, she shrugged, "Some things I will never be able to repair. And it's hard for me to admit that there is something that I can't fix. I just have to get over that. And I want to stop running away from the things that I can do something about."

"Running away?"

She nodded, a frown coming to her features. "My pride seems to have a nasty blind spot for that."

"You wouldn't be here if you were running away."

"I wasn't here," she reminded him, pointedly finding his surprised eyes. "I was too ashamed to come back here," Dorothy forced herself to admit to it again.

But unlike Andrew, Quatre understood. She watched the soft look of understanding float through his eyes, before he lost his focus on her, lost in a memory of his own perhaps. They had their regrets, both of them. But she had found an anchor for her thoughts… in the last place she would have ever suspected.

Mainly because he was simply not willing to let her go. Perhaps she would have to start classifying his "clinginess" as a good thing.

She scooted in again, giving him a tight hug for his thoughts. "I've put a large collection of things into place finally. I just needed a little help," she smiled, releasing him and sitting back.

Quatre moved back as well, "Well, I'm glad to hear it."

Dorothy nodded sharply and then rose back to her feet, planting a hand on her hip, and raising the other to point towards his chosen bedroom. "Now then, Master Winner. If you would humor me…?"

He gave her a tightlipped smile and slowly rose and moved off in the direction of the room. "All the thanks I get…" she heard him mumble.

* * *

Davonte Fellentain jogged up the pathway to the front doors of the chateau, opening one without bothering with the bell. He swirled around, closing it behind him before shivering off the cold and turning back to find a row of scaffolding standing in his way.

He removed his sunglasses to get a better look at the wide, once proud, entryway. The tile had been taken up, striped down to the underlying cement board. Collections of equipment lay around the area, creating a hazardous labyrinth between the feet of the scaffolding.

What on Earth was Dorothy up to in here? Davonte took another long look around the destruction that faced him before shaking his head. "My dear child has finally gone and cracked her tea cup," he decided to himself.

Movement caught his eye and forced him to slowly look up, discovering three men curiously looking back down at him. They were obviously working at repainting the overhead ribbed archways, created specifically to look like a vaulted ceiling. He blinked at them, and they blinked back. All of them wore similar outfits, wraparound shirts, vests, baggy pants, and… a fez?

"Hello," he drawled, as he curiously stared up at them.

"Hello," one replied.

"Can we help you?" another asked.

He raised an eyebrow, but then thought better of asking who they were. Obviously they were part of a construction crew… he just had no idea which one. "Would the Lady of the house be about?" he asked instead.

They all looked at each other, shrugged, and then pointed him off down towards the West wing's hallway. "Ballroom," they all mumbled to him.

"Ah," he nodded. "Very good." Trying to keep his displaced expression to a minimum, he started picking his way through the collection of… the mess. Just one giant mess. Finally, he came out into the main hallway, stepping lightly towards the ballroom entrance. Stacks of items were collected in seemingly random piles along the walls, and he saw at least ten other men, all attired much the same way, running to and fro within the rooms.

He slipped into the first of the three doors to the ballroom and about tripped as he realized a little late that the marble tiles that had always graced the entryway steps had likewise been removed. Catching himself before he tumbled down the three short stairs, he quickly scurried onto the floor, casting a dirty look back at the offending planks of bare wood.

Puffing out a sigh, he looked around only to find more scaffolding rising in three distinct sets. Raising his eyes, he found men climbing and crawling about, obviously…. "Not the chandeliers," he groaned to himself.

Snapping his attention back to the room's floor, he searched for his most beloved blond. Dorothy was obviously having a mental breakdown and needed a good talking to.

He found her in conversation with a couple men in the far corner where a table was set out of the way of the scaffolding. Making his way through the destruction, he stepped up behind her, catching the attention of the two men with her, obviously with the same building crew.

Raising both hands to his hips, he came up obnoxiously close behind her and stared down at the top of her bowed head as she went through some papers in her hands. He knew very well that she knew he was there, and knew who it was, because she ignored him as usual.

"Beloved?" he announced himself.

"Davonte, dear, where have you been?" she asked, not looking up but handing a paper off to one of the men. "Blue," she stated to him.

The young man seemed a bit shocked and blinked between the two but said nothing as he made the note on the sheet.

"Darling," he tried again. "What are you doing?" he tried to sound simply curious.

"I told you, I'm remodeling," she responded. Handing off another sheet, she added, "Those are here, I think I had them left in the kitchen."

Again the young man made a note, a displaced smile gracing his lips.

"Remodeling?" he asked, leaning in closer over her shoulder. "Milady, when you said that I thought you meant you were bringing in a Feng Shui artist, not a…" he took a glance around him again, "wrecking crew."

"Well," she shuffled the papers, "I suppose that will teach you to listen better."

He gave her a humorless laugh for the snippy comment and then flashed a smile to the two men who were giving each other helpless looks. "Pardon." He snatched a hold of her waist and forcefully swiveled her around. He marched off with her a couple paces before she got her bearings and planted her feet, forcing him to stop. "Have you lost your sense?" he asked before she could hit him with an outraged cry.

Dorothy glared at him as he came up in front of her again, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his full height at her. "No, I'm merely fixing a few things," she declared.

"Fixing?" he raised an eyebrow and then took a very pointed look up at the men carefully removing the lighting over their heads. "Well, I'd hate to know what your version of destruction is then."

"Von, you can stand here and second guess what's already done, or you can get over here and help me," she heavily suggested.

He returned her look evenly. "…With?" he carefully asked.

"The whole first floor is getting a coat of paint, and most of the second. I need a good group of suggestions."

He stared at her. "Everything?"

She nodded, her typical look of superiority not compromising a bit.

"Oh, bloody hell," he sighed, deflated. "You're obviously going to need the help," he shook his head. He noted a scuffle as three men began maneuvering one of the massive chandeliers away from the ceiling to the scaffolding. "Who are these people?" he finally muttered.

Dorothy brightened and pivoted back around, her hair catching him in the side as she walked back to the table. "Friends," she simply stated.

"Of course," he mumbled to himself. "Should I bother to tell you that an 'Arabian Nights' theme is never going to work with this architecture?" He followed her back to the other two men as he comically watched the frenzy of destruction rain down on the poor building around him.

"I'm not trying one," she chuckled. "Davonte Fellentain," she extended a hand towards the men now beside her, "Quatre Raberba Winner, and Rasid Kurama."

"Ah, pleasure," he mumbled, extending his hand towards the younger man before stopping halfway and blinking. "Winner… Winner…." Taking his hand back just a moment, he leaned down to Dorothy again, his "introduction smile" still in place. "Where do I know that from?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.

His beloved child rolled her eyes and shook her head. "The painting," she supplied in a stage whisper.

"Ah!" he righted again, and happily shook the man's hand. "Mr. Winner. The Colony friend. So glad to meet you," he gushed. "I hear you liked the painting?" he confirmed.

The young blond in front of him chuckled when he finally got his hand back. "Very much, Mr. Fellentain. I am truly impressed. Thank you so much."

"Oh good," he sighed. "You have no idea how stressful that was," he threw a bitter look at the woman between them.

She shrugged, "You don't take instruction well."

"Of course not. I'm artistic," he made his excuse as he shook the other gentleman's hand, flashing him a smile. The larger man didn't seem quiet so… enthused to meet him, and he held back the grimace as he noted the size of the man in question.

Bodyguard maybe? He was dressed much the same as the other men though. Foreman perhaps then.

"Well, bring your ungrateful artistic butt this way then," Dorothy stated, gathering an arm full of paint samples. "Eighty-seven rooms to go."

He faltered, watching her head towards the doors. "Please tell me you're joking," he mumbled after her.

* * *

"I've been reduced to a curtain hanger."

"No, now you're just a curtain remover. After we paint you can be a curtain hanger."

Quatre stopped in the doorway to the room. He had wandered through the halls for twenty minutes trying to find Dorothy again, and now he couldn't help but smile at the image presented to him.

She stood on top of a stool, neatly piled with three thick volumes that were obviously taken from the bookcase beside the window she was working on. She stood atop all of them on her toes, stretched to the extent of her height as she tugged the heavy drapes off of the rod above the window trim.

What was probably more humorous was that, his newly acquainted, Mr. Fellentain was collecting the folds of fabric, and trying for all he was worth to keep clear of the dust cloud they were creating.

"This is why I don't own curtains," he sighed.

"And that is why you live alone," Dorothy snickered at him.

"Droll, dearest."

Well, at least Quatre had finally figured out the mystery of why Dorothy suddenly began using odd pet names around everyone.

"You know, these are the types of things that your maids would be very helpful for," he ventured.

"Well, Mr. Fellentain, have you become so high and noble that you can't do your own housework?"

"You've seen my studio, what do you think?"

"I think you're a slob."

"Well, if the widow Casadona would ever return my phone calls I wouldn't have to worry about it."

And Dorothy broke out laughing, giving up on the drapes and leaning against the wall as her shoulders shook.

"What?" he shrugged. "It could happen. She's a great admirer of my work."

"She's a great admirer of anything male under the age of fifty," she giggled.

"Well, it's very unusual to find a lady so… enthusiastic at her age."

"Davonte she's in her eighties!"

"She can't be," he scoffed.

"The portrait you painted of her dead husband was for what would have been their sixtieth wedding anniversary."

"Oh," he seemed to consider. "Well, love is not accounted for in age, Milady," he placed a hand to his heart.

"Oh save me," Dorothy snorted and went back to tugging the fabric towards her.

"You called?" Quatre finally identified himself as he stepped into the room.

"My hero!" she cried, turning to watch him walk in.

Davonte sniffed and then grabbed a curtain rod that leaned against the window frame next to him. "En garde!" he pointed the thing at him, without letting go of the folds of curtains that tied him to the window though, and gave him a sinister stage-laugh.

Quatre chuckled, holding up the notebooks he was carrying as a shield.

Dorothy rolled her eyes and went back to her work. "Don't hurt yourself, Von. I need that rod back."

* * *

"He seems fun," Quatre commented as he followed Dorothy through the corridors back to the ballroom, leaving Davonte to his own devices—and color charts—for the time being.

"Oh, he's a sweetheart. Strange, but sweet," she waved it off.

Quatre hid a chuckle behind a closed fist. "Well, I hate to know how you describe me."

"Strange and mostly sweet," she shrugged.

He stopped, staring after her as she just kept walking.

"Or should that be 'sweet and mostly strange'?" she paced along. "Oh, and adorable," she held up a finger over her shoulder. "Shouldn't forget that."

"Why do I put up with you?" he asked into the lonely hallway before she finally turned to regard him.

"I make your life interesting."

Quatre's shoulders slumped. "And you really think that my life has a lack of being interesting?"

She raised a finger to her chin to think about that a moment. "Well, things are a little dull these days."

He sighed and continued on, walking past her. "I'm just something to amuse you, aren't I?"

"Well, you are fun to play with," she agreed from behind him.

"What do I have to do to get you to take me seriously?" he paused to let her catch up, wondering why he let her get him into these types of conversations.

"I do, dearest," she soothed, taking his arm as she came up to his side. "I just think you're cute when you blush," she purred into his ear.

He gave her a groan for her effort, but then stopped when he heard a muffled snicker from behind them. Cold dread ran down his back as he slowly turned to find four of the guys snickering and leaned out of one of the open doorways they had just passed.

"Well, if he's dull, I'll play with you, Mistress," one smiled.

"Yeah, you can do something to make me blush any day," another snickered before getting punched in the arm by someone else.

Dorothy raised a hand over her mouth as she started giggling.

And Quatre gave them all a horrified look before promptly turning back and shaking off Dorothy's arm. Raising his notebook to mostly cover his face he quickly paced off down the hall again. He knew better than to try to explain that.

The last thing he heard as he all but ran for the next hallway intersection was Dorothy's high-pitched cackle.

* * *

"Just… be careful with them," he tried one last time as Dorothy physically shoved him towards the door.

"We'll be fine," she soothed. "Protecting me with their lives and all," she rolled her eyes.

"That's not what worries me," Quatre returned, fighting her efforts to get him out the door.

"Don't worry about a thing, Master Quatre," someone called from behind her.

"We'll take good care of everything," came another.

"See," she sighed. "Perfectly fine."

He gave her a nervous smile and finally stepped, grudgingly, over the threshold. "Well, um, be sure to call if you need anything."

"We will. We will," she waved him out. "Get going or you'll be late getting back to the Colony."

"Bye!" a chorus raised behind her.

Quatre finally gave in and flashed them all a half-hearted smile. "Mind your manners for the Lady," he tried.

The laughter he got in return only made him grimace once more before he turned towards the waiting taxi and Dorothy closed the door on his retreating form.

"What?" someone asked. "No goodbye kiss?"

"Back to work!" she snapped.

* * *

"Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humor in the woman – or the want of it in the man." Oscar Wilde

Proof read by: Random Pixie  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	23. Chapter 23

AN: Quatre's Episode Zero comes into play in this chapter. If you haven't read it, don't worry, just follow along, more will be explained in time. I wanted you all to know where I was taking some of this from. Enjoy!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 23

"The cost per project on these 'repairs' have taken a thirteen percent chunk out of the gross profit for the year to date."

"The company can't afford to keep up these types of unnecessary projects."

"Now, 'unnecessary' is a matter of opinion."

"Well, it's my opinion. We've run this corporation for a hundred and fifty years by sticking to the numbers."

"People count more than the bottom line."

"I'm not debating that."

Quatre sat stiffly in his seat, quiet and watchful of the men arguing with each other. He had gotten back on colony, thanks to the time difference working in his favor, in time to be at the office early. Now it was five thirty in the afternoon and he was tired.

He also had a massive headache, his jaw was sore from clenching his mouth shut for most of the day, and his agitated fidgeting had nearly worn out his pen.

What the three men and two women in this room were truly "debating" were the projects that had been taken up during the past year, which were not _traditional_. In other words, "his" projects. The grudge match waging for the last two and a half hours was currently centered on the replacement work that the Maguanacs had been systematically making to each of the Resource Stations. Quatre had spent several months aboard the L4 station that Iria and Nashita lived on, getting himself familiar with that aspect of the company before taking on his office as president.

A time that this group had spent specifically running the company as they had seen fit.

"Then what we really need to decide on is whether or not it is imperative to continue this work outside of the L4 cluster, or if it can be abandoned now."

"I chose L4 as a starting point for a reason," Quatre finally interjected his own voice. The group actually seemed to remember that he was still there. Half looked at him with interest, the other half barely acknowledged the interruption.

"Regardless of the reason, the fact is that we can't continue with this," Director Norman Sheel flipped a dismissive hand in his direction.

The man in question was his most vocal opponent to anything out of the ordinary that Quatre brought to the table. Set in the traditional values of the company that he had been employed by for the past thirty-seven years, he was not the oldest member here, but he was the most vocal.

Mainly because he didn't like anyone else's ideas.

However, the man did have an excellent eye for progress and was an expert when it came to keeping the balance sheet sparkling for the investors. He was the spokesman for the shareholder meetings and single-handedly kept their stock options in check and balance.

And Quatre would admit that he did not feel that the man meant any harm. But he also knew that Mr. Sheel hated, with a passion, that the position of presidency had been passed down to a teenager.

Quatre twisted the pen he had been slowly mutilating all day in his lap, swiveling the lapel clip back and forth with his thumb. "We don't have that choice," he stated, breaking into whatever else the man was going to go on about. "L4 was not only the starting point for these _necessary_ repairs; it was also the test area. This cluster showed the most amount of wear on the equipment and safety restraints. With these stations finished, we can plan on the others taking less time… and money," he specifically put in.

"Why is L4 different?" Jane Austel asked from his right side. She was one of the most soft-spoken members of the group, but she also had a keen insight towards the outer space laborers, having come from a station herself.

"They are older, some are actually still original," he explained. "The company has always concerned itself with expansion instead of revising the standing equipment. Now, with stations operating in each cluster again with the war over, we have the chance to ensure the safety of the—"

"Quatre, we know you've been there," Mr. Sheel cut him off.

He slowly closed his mouth again and turned away from his explanation to Ms. Austel. His thumbnail worked at prying the pen's tip loose and then pushing it back on, over and over again. Mr. Sheel was the only one that referred to him by his first name here. Of course, Quatre was the only one that Mr. Sheel used a first name with out of the group at all.

It was a decisive mark that the director did not appreciate being spoken to as an adult by someone that the man did not see as one.

Moving on to his _peers_ the other man waved it off. "I'm sure to someone like yourself the conditions seemed needy. But to the seasoned workers, there have been no major complaints."

Someone like himself…. A wet-behind-the-ears, spoiled brat who was only there because daddy was too stupid to leave the company in more capable hands before he ran off and got himself killed. That was the underlying message. And he got it, loud and clear.

Of course! What did Quatre know about "manual labor" and "hard work," he was born in a silver test-tube after all.

The man had insulted his last good nerve. He would have stood up and shouted down the insulting jerk, but instead he called up a mental image of his father at the head of this table, calming himself down once more. Quietly putting his pen back together he raised it to lay over the datapad in front of him. "The point is that the numbers will be different for the subsequent clusters. If we adjourn for the afternoon I will bring in the projections tomorrow. You may find that you're making too much out of this for nothing."

He tried, he really did, but Quatre was sure that sentence still ended up coming out sounding condescending. And from the look on Mr. Sheel's face when the man finally graced him enough to look down the table at him, the older man heard it.

And Quatre didn't care.

* * *

"You're giving your directors far too much power over you," Dorothy stated, pulling her toothbrush out of her mouth so he'd understand her.

"That's really not helping," Quatre informed her, resentment and bitterness impossible to miss in his voice even through the phone.

"You know what I'm going to tell you."

"I can't fire him," came the distinctly exasperated grumble.

Dorothy blinked, "Actually I was going to say get a tub of chocolate frosting and take a bubble bath."

There was a pause, but he still didn't laugh. "Sorry."

She silently sighed and rolled her eyes at herself in her bathroom mirror while she rinsed out the brush. "What did they say?" she asked instead.

"They spent hours going over…." Dorothy pulled the phone away and covered the receiver against her hip as she rinsed her mouth and spit the toothpaste back out. Leisurely finishing, she replaced the phone to her ear, catching him still in mid-tirade. "…supposed to get through to someone like that? I can't even—"

"Quatre!" she specifically interrupted him. "Breathe, would you?"

There was a sigh and then a pause as he apparently followed her direction. "I'm sorry. Dorothy, I don't mean to dump this on you."

She walked out, turning the light off to the bathroom and stood there in the dark doorway, a distant smirk to her lips as she listened to the dejected note in his voice. His sheepish apology only made her want to be there to hug him. Poor soul. He was going to have to get used to this. "Quatre, it's fine. I want you to talk to me, but you're getting yourself all wrapped up in this. So the guy doesn't appreciate you, he's not the first, he won't be the last."

A silence stretched across the line and Dorothy knew that without venting about the group he had to turn to the more unpleasant understanding that someone just plain didn't like him. And that was not something that sweet, friendly, always lovable Quatre Raberba Winner was accustomed to.

And furthermore, it wasn't for anything that he himself did.

Dorothy knew that. But she had seen the wild, savage power struggles that came with any change in leadership. And she knew that the ruthless were always the victors unless put down quickly. Quatre had let this go on far too long. He needed to stake his claim to the throne now or forsake it to be torn into pieces by his father's generals.

Alright, bad analogy, this wasn't ancient Rome. This was her friend, he needed someone to just listen to him after a bad day—Oh, screw that. She wasn't his wife. And it was about time that he started listening to her.

"Quatre, I'm going to do this for your own good. I'm officially turning off your friend Dorothy and switching to your investor, Lady Catalonia."

"…The voices in your head need the exercise?"

It was her own joke, but at least he made it. But she was done with trying to lightly coax him in the right direction. Walking into her darkened bedroom, she went to the closest window and drew back the heavy drapes, letting in the past midnight moon. Her older friends would dub this "full bitch mode."

Well, this was probably more like half-hearted mode, but it was the same principle.

"This man is only getting you upset because you refuse to put him in his place. If any of them have a problem with a specific issue, state, very clearly, why you did it and dare them to give you a better solution. That is the only reason those people are even there." The line was absolutely silent and she pulled the phone away to check to make sure she was still connected before replacing it to her ear. "Quatre?"

"…Excuse me?" came the confused try.

For a moment she almost backed down from taking this type of tone with him. After all, she had never tried this forceful of a tactic with him since… _Libra_. If this didn't work, she'd go browbeat the worthless excuses for "loyal corporate servants" into the colony ground herself. Granted that wouldn't help him get over this, but it would be highly satisfying.

Dorothy pulled up to full height, outlined by the moon that shone down on her through the high bedroom window. She'd make up for this later. He needed her now.

"Stop being a coward and stand up for yourself. As long as they see you as a pushover they will expect it. This is not your board, _you_ didn't appoint them. And you've given them no reason to respect you. That wasn't something that came with the job. All those people have is their dimming faith in your father, the person who actually chose them, and the tiny little thread that ties you to him. And all you're offering them is a meek, placating version of that."

Dorothy stopped, mentally slapping herself for going overboard like usual. Her and her big mouth.

"Quatre, you are better than this," she stated distinctly, turning her words. "You may be a friend, but I did not put half of my portfolio into your hands because you're cute. I don't need a mascot, and neither do these people. We need a leader. And I, for one, know just how strong you are. I have no use for petty, self-serving men. You, or this director." She gave him a specific pause, "Show them what I see in you."

The line was completely dead, but she refused to say anything else before he did. It was very, very slow in coming, and her heart had carved itself down to her knees before she heard the quiet words. "Take some pride in myself."

Dorothy blinked, finding that an odd way to put it, but at least he seemed to have gotten the point. Her first reaction was to relent, to apologize, to ask him to forgive the harsh words. But she wouldn't. If she didn't stick to this, there was no reason for him to. "Exactly," she stated instead. "You have no reason to give these people permission to walk over you. Your decisions are your own. They are only there to advise you. Perhaps it's time for them to remember that."

Again the silence lengthened, and she knew that she was glad she wasn't standing there, trying to ignore the hurt look she was sure he had.

"I understand," he quietly responded.

She released a sigh, "Good."

"…Any chance you could put my friend back on the phone?"

And she smiled, giving him just a tiny chuckle. "Why, yes, dear. What can I do for you?" she responded softening her tone. Walking away, she went around her four-post bed to the other huge window, pulling the drapes back from it too to let in the light.

"I don't think I like her all that well," he quietly responded.

"Oh, she's a bitch, but she's usually right," Dorothy smirked to herself before raising her free hand to smooth out one of her eyebrows.

"Well," he tried, "I'd never say that."

"That she's right?"

"Uh… no, the other part."

Dorothy giggled, and then walked over and climbed into her bed, wrapping the unmade covers around her as she sat backwards, liking the effect of the moonlight in the room. "Quatre, I honestly do want the best for you." She cringed and about slapped herself for the stupid admission that just refuted her own words.

"Thanks," he responded anyway. "That's… I needed to hear that."

She turned inside out, realizing that Quatre was nothing like any of the men she was so typically around. Dorothy couldn't expect to leave something like that out. His emotions were far too close to the surface. He was not a man that could pull cocky overconfidence out of anger like the pompous men who were usually presented to her.

"I'm serious though," she said softly. "Show them your strength, your commitment, and they won't be able refuse you. Trust me," she dipped to a purr with a smile.

She heard the half-felt chuckle from him as he mulled that over. "It's just…." He sighed, apparently not able to say what he wanted.

"What?" she prodded.

"I'm afraid," he lightly confessed. "You know that don't you?"

She thought she did, but wasn't about to admit to it. "Afraid of what?"

"I don't know what I'm doing, Dorothy. How am I supposed to tell those people who have been through this for decades to trust me when I…." He broke and she bunched the loose covers around her, hugging them instead. "I'm not my father."

She felt a sting behind her eyes, but she could not explain why. Maybe it was in his voice, or his words, but she could feel the internal fears in him. Dorothy straightened her shoulders, clenching her jaw shut a moment before reigning herself back in. "No, you're not," she agreed, her voice soft, but unwavering. "And there is no reason that you need to be."

She heard the sniff that told her he didn't agree. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Talk to me, Quatre," she half-pleaded, worry running through her.

It was a moment before the resigned sigh sounded through the phone. "I don't even know how to tell you this," he began. "I don't have a starting point, and you know the ending." There was a shuffle in the background as he moved.

Yes, she knew the ending. His father's death was the ending. A pacifist attempting to remove the necessary supplies from a colony that was bent on arming themselves to help out the OZ campaign. It was a story that she had followed with odd interest, even before she had met Quatre Raberba Winner, Gundam pilot.

"We never seemed to agree, we hardly talked, there were years when I couldn't even believe that he cared," he started. His voice was resigned, merely listing the problems that had existed between himself and his father.

Dorothy felt her chest ache at the words, shocked but not sure why she'd always assumed differently.

"I honestly believed for years of my life that I was just expendable. I was only different because I was his only son." The deadpan of his words was crushing. He seemed to notice it too and took a breath. "Dorothy, you wouldn't have even recognized me back then." He paused, "At least I hope you wouldn't."

What in the world could she say to something like that? She hugged her covers close to her chest, the thin tank top doing nothing to protect her from the cold moonlight. He had grown up never knowing his sisters, his mother had died before he could remember, and his father…. "But, what about the picture on your desk? Obviously it wasn't always that way between you."

The picture frame was always tucked at the corner of his desk, next to his computer monitor. She noticed it mostly because it was absolutely adorable. Quatre couldn't have been more than four or five, a happily smiling little boy hanging off of his father's arm, who was smiling down at him.

"You mean the one I'm standing here staring at?" he mildly asked. "You're right. It wasn't always that way between us. Unfortunately, the reason this has been here for thirteen years is because it's probably the last picture we have together."

_Big mouth, Dorothy_, she mentally snipped to herself.

He gave a pitiable sigh, "I was so stupid. I wasted the few years I had with him."

"You didn't know. Children don't tend to think down the line all that well," she sagely counseled, knowing it wouldn't help.

"I just didn't feel like I actually mattered. I, me, my actual self. I just felt like a puppet. As long as I did what I was supposed to, then I didn't need to think for myself. I couldn't even care about myself, let alone about him or anyone else."

"Quatre?" She sat, shock still, not believing that those words could be true. It was not the man that she knew.

"I told you, I honestly hope that you wouldn't recognize me if you saw who I was then," he answered quietly. "By the time I met Rasid and the others and got some sense slapped into me… I went completely the other way. I abandoned my studies; I all but threw away anything associated with my family. I put everything into Sandrock, and I just kept believing that I had something I had to prove," he emphasized.

Dorothy softly nodded to herself, understanding that feeling. "You felt you had to prove yourself to him? Gain his approval?"

"No," he contradicted her. "No, I knew that I would never get his approval for what I did. I understood that I was turning my back on him and the entire line. That was a consequence that I was willing to deal with later. I figured I'd either have the time after the war was over… or I'd be dead and he'd be right."

"Then why?" she asked.

"I needed to value myself," he answered, some strength coming back to his voice. "I had to prove myself to me. I needed to… have some pride."

She sat, shocked at the admission. He decided to enter the war to prove that he could do—that made no sense.

"I needed a purpose that wasn't just this company or this name. I needed to be…." He didn't finish. "Dorothy, I'm sorry," he seemed to switch thoughts, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I don't think I can…". he sighed. "I don't know how to tell you some of this."

She felt slapped by the admission. "Of course, I understand." She didn't. She wanted him to trust her enough to tell her, but he obviously didn't. She couldn't blame him though, she was sure it hurt to bring this all up. "I'm sorry, Quatre. I wish I knew what to do."

"No. It's too late now. All I can do is wonder what I should have done then." He sighed, "And wonder what I'm supposed to be doing now." His tone changed again. "I'm afraid of this, and I know that you've seen it in me."

She idly nodded to herself, agreeing. "It's not actually fear. You're just still comparing yourself to him. You are looking for approval. And that's normal," she stated, not having a clue whether it was or not.

"I'm not him," he repeated.

"Dear… I never knew your father. I have no idea if you're actually anything like him or not. But I do know you. I can't give you the type of approval that you're looking for, but I can tell you that you still need to find your own confidence," she quietly stated, praying for divine guidance in her words.

There was a shuffle in the background again. "Dorothy… do you honestly believe I can handle this?"

It was an earnest question, and it took her only a second to finally understand him. "I know you can," she stated easily. Slipping out of the covers, she braced the cold and slid out of bed again, walking back to the moonlit window. "You're a strategist, Quatre. You're built for this. There is no decision that you take lightly."

"Lady Catalonia," he addressed, "what do I do?"

Dorothy smirked and tossed a piece of her hair behind her back. "Stop asking me, Master Winner. You have a habit of impressing me. I'm sure you will again."

"Really?" he asked, and she could hear the start of a smile to his voice. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. It's not an easy task." Turning away from the glare of the moon, she closed her eyes. "Which means impressing those petty little directors shouldn't prove the least bit difficult for you."

There was a single chuckle from him. "What would I do without you?"

"Be miserable," she sighed, walking back to her bed again but propping herself up against the headboard this time, snuggling the covers up around her. "But probably less confused," she added.

"That's an understatement."

She chuckled specifically for his benefit. "Quatre, I never mean to come down hard on you. It's just my way. I hope you know that," she confessed.

"I do," he hurriedly replied. "I know I need it sometimes."

"All men do," she flippantly replied.

"Thanks," he grumbled.

"You do make things difficult though. Anyone else and I would have had every one of those directors marked for termination already." She sighed, "I suppose that's why I like you. You're always a challenge."

"Good to know."

She smiled at the sound of the tease in his voice. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"Yes. I'll be fine."

Dorothy absently traced the shadows on her wall, trying to piece everything together still. "I hope so."

"So," he started, "how was your day?"

She giggled, smiling. "Well, aside from a small ceiling mishap, we did quite well."

"Ceiling?"

Rethinking that she hummed to herself a moment. "By the way… when are you coming back?"

He laughed, "Probably Saturday morning. I could leave after work Friday but that wouldn't put me there until…" he suddenly trailed out. "It's two o'clock in the morning there, isn't it?" he asked, obviously just noting the time.

Looking over at the clock on her bedside table, she shrugged. "One forty-five."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about it when I called," he gushed.

"Dear, please. I was still up anyway, and besides, I'm glad you did."

"Really, you need some sleep."

Part of her definitely did not want to hang up with him yet. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

"I've been through this more times than I can count. I'll be fine, really."

She nodded to herself, feeling that he was telling the truth. "You need some sleep too. You're just as tired as I am. Will you call me after the meeting tomorrow?"

"It could be twelve-thirty again, or worse."

"Doesn't matter. I don't care if it's four a.m. Just call, alright?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, but he must have obviously known better than to argue. "Alright."

"Promise?" she prodded.

"I promise," he surrendered.

"Goodnight then," she yawned. "And my offer to come beat the lousy man into the ground for you still stands."

"Hiding behind a skirt probably won't help my image."

"Oh, I'm very good at making it look like someone else's fault," she smirked.

* * *

"What do you think she's doing?" Byron asked as they pulled up in front of the chateau.

"Something harmless," Andrew responded, parking the car and getting out.

"With 'hundreds of men running amuck?'" he quoted with a snicker.

"Since when did the Gossip Duchess ever get something right?" he grumped as they walked up the pathway.

"Such a deplorable sight to have a young lady dismiss her workforce and be surrounded by… _laborers_," he specifically lowered to a whisper, laughing at the way the elder, high and mighty, Duchess Chesterfield spoke.

"That woman causes nothing but trouble," Andrew shook his head.

Byron sighed and nodded, reaching for the bell as they approached but then stopped, opening the door instead. "Probably no one to answer it anyway," he mumbled to Andrew's look of disapproval.

"Don't come in!" Andrew grabbed his friend by the shirt collar just before they both nearly stumbled over the threshold towards the panicked voice.

Looking in they found the front entryway scattered with equipment and scaffolding, and throughout the main hallway behind it. A man in a vest and a fez knelt on the ground halfway through the hall, holding up two mud covered hands. Between him and the front doors were freshly laid tiles, arranged and set, but still unwashed or grouted.

"Sorry. Don't want to redo those," he explained.

"Oh, no problem," Byron mumbled, holding up his hands as well. "Our fault."

"Thanks," he mumbled, and then smiled. "Can I help you?"

"We were looking for Miss Catalonia," Andrew explained, officially wondering what the heck was going on.

"Oh yeah, she's here somewhere," he nodded, but then looked down at his hands and the floor that was already smeared out and ready for the next section of tiles.

"No, no, don't get up," Byron waved the man to stay there. "We know where the back doors are," he smiled.

"Ah, good," the guy didn't seem surprised at the familiarity they had. "Try the ballroom," he pointed.

"Thank you," Byron stated, carefully leaning in to pull the door closed. "I'll just lock this for you," he mumbled, clicking the lock on the other side of the door handle.

"Hey, thanks!" The man was already back to his work as they clicked the door shut and stood looking at each other.

"That was weird," Byron gave him a confused smile.

Andrew shook it off and shrugged as they started around the side of the West wing. There were no other front entryways so they made it all the way to the side of the building, entering through the kitchen door next to the rose garden gate.

The massive kitchen was currently piled with boxes and stacks of building supplies, all apparently waiting for their specific project to be started. Otherwise the place was deserted.

"Maybe Duchess Big-Nose did know what she was talking about," Byron looked around.

"There's usually a grain of truth in there somewhere," he commented, stepping through the piles and swinging the door open to head out into the hallway, which was cluttered with just as many stacks. "I can see why she dismissed her maids for a while anyway."

"Wow, what a mess."

Andrew nodded his agreement. The two made their way down the hallway, listening to the sounds of cutting and banging, voices yelling out instructions once in a while. Passing the wing's main staircase they noted an extension cord winding up the steps and sanding dust snowing down into a pile at the bottom of the open foyer area.

Most of the rooms they were passing were lifeless, but all of the curtains and wall hangings had been removed and were piled in the center of the room. Some were already marked off with painter's tape and some had the moldings and trim work torn off the walls and piled as well.

Farther towards the front rooms groups of workers moved back and forth, doing who knew what. The two shrugged at each other, not having any idea who the construction crew was with. "When was the last time you saw someone wear a fez willingly?" Byron quietly asked.

"Here? Never," Andrew brushed it off, stopping as he passed a doorway and looking back in.

The black haired man standing in the room tilting his head back and forth at a number of paint samples taped on the wall was the only familiar thing in the place. "How does she expect me to judge from this?" he grumbled to himself with a sigh.

"Davonte?" he called.

The man twirled around, recognizing the two. "Andrew, Byron, it's been quite a long time."

"Yeah," Byron nodded, leaning next to his side around the corner of the door. "What the hell is going on?"

"Dorothy's lost her bloody marbles," he nodded to them as though he found that perfectly natural. "She's decided that she hates everything."

The two blinked at each other and then turned back to him. "Where is she?" Andrew asked.

"Haven't the foggiest," he turned back to the wall. "Ask Rasid. He and Quatre are the only two that can ever keep track of her."

Andrew's stomach twisted painfully as he stared at the man's back.

"Who?" Byron asked.

"Rasid. Tall, brawny guy," he made vague hand gestures for them. "Only one without a hat."

"Who else did you say?" Andrew quietly asked.

"Oh, Quatre. But he's not here."

"Quatre Winner?"

Byron looked back and forth between the two. "Who?"

Andrew ignored him. Davonte randomly picked a color swatch off the wall before nodding. "That sounds right," he muttered. "Raspberry or burgundy?"

"What's the difference?" Byron snorted.

"What does he have to do with this?" Andrew interjected.

"Raspberry is lighter with more red tinting than the purple in the burgundy," he rubbed his chin, still not turning back to them. "And these are apparently his guys."

"Whose what?" Byron looked up at him, still confused.

Andrew didn't respond, stepping out of the doorway and pacing off again for the ballroom.

"Drew?" He heard Byron start after him and then turn back to Davonte and yelled, "Raspberry," over his shoulder.

Andrew quickly scanned around the rooms, searching for a blond in the middle of the red fezzes, and also silently scrutinizing the collection of men milling around certain projects. And then, over the din of the banging and sawing came an unmistakable, high-pitched laugh that couldn't belong to any other creature on Earth.

"Well, she was never hard to find," Byron mumbled, stepping past him as he froze in the middle of the hallway. The other paused, looking back over his shoulder at him. "You coming?" he blinked.

Andrew shook himself out of it and actually considered the question until his friend raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah," he moved after him.

Peeking into the ballroom the two were presented with a giant mess. Scaffolding climbed up to the ceiling in three places, there were stacks of boards and sheetrock through the area and equipment lay scattered. In the midst of this a group of men stood laughing themselves almost to tears around Dorothy, who was currently helping someone else back to their feet.

The young woman wore her thigh-length hair back in a braid, something he hadn't seen done since her last fencing match. She was clothed in a tattered pair of exercise pants and a t-shirt… also one that he hadn't seen since her fencing days. The entire outfit was rather snug on her, and he decidedly figured it wasn't something a newly-titled Lady should be seen in around her construction crew.

However, when she rose back to her feet with the fallen man in question, she gave him a little hug with a laugh, getting the man to grin like an idiot and making the others "Ooh" over it. Obviously these were not merely hired workers, and she was paint covered enough to make him figure that she was enjoying her part in helping.

"Maybe we should come back later?" Byron suggested.

"No," he pushed it off and walked down the steps towards her.

Dorothy caught sight of them before they made it halfway across the room and started in surprise before giving them a smile and sending the group back to work. Side-stepping around the mess, she happily met them, her smile much easier than his was. "What are you two doing here?"

"We're out on break," Byron answered, stepping up and swinging her around once in a hug. "Our two-month is over."

"Well, congratulations," she smiled, turning it to Andrew as well. "Where to next?"

Andrew shook his head, "We won't know for a while."

Byron nodded down to her, finally releasing her from his hold. "We get our placement papers sometime around Christmas. We'll report back in January."

"I see. And you two heard that I was making a mess and cavorting with strange men in my house, didn't you?" she teased.

"I think we heard correctly," Andrew mumbled, taking a glance around.

Dorothy stepped over and leaned into his side, narrowing her eyes up at him. "It wouldn't be me if I didn't cause a stir," she winked.

* * *

"Andrew didn't come back with you?" she asked, leading Byron through the hallways to one of the still furnished sitting rooms.

"No, he said something that sounded suspiciously like 'I have to wash my hair,'" he replied flopping down on the first couch inside the room.

Dorothy stood between him and the coffee table. "Well, you'd know all about those types of excuses," she teased.

"Yeah," he sighed. "You're the only one that I'd believe it from though."

She nodded, but then took a light seat on the coffee table in front of him. "Byron…" she softly tried to work her nerves.

"He's not over it," the brunette in front of her stated easily, his eyes closed as he lounged back on the couch.

Well, at least she wouldn't have to break the topic open. Putting her hands behind her she leaned back on the table, finding the window's view interesting for a moment. "Should I have known?" she finally asked, wanting more than anything to give herself a reason that she never noticed his affections.

"Sister Francis knew he loved you. And she has four-inch thick glasses and two hearing aids."

She looked back to find his raised eyebrow. "Where was I?" she asked out of sheer frustration.

Byron laughed, shaking his head. "You never got it. But, neither did he. The idiot would not admit to it for the life of him. It wasn't until after you left that he finally had to figure it out." Looking back over, he gave her a smile. "He is getting better though."

"And how does that make me feel better?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I'm trying."

Dorothy relented; arguing with Byron wasn't going to do anything for her. "I'm sorry," she waved it off. "I just have absolutely no clue what to do."

"Nothing," he specifically told her. "Go on. Move on your merry little way. Drew doesn't have to like any of this, but he does have to get used to it. He's got a whole new set of things to deal with now, and he's OK. Not great, but OK."

She focused on his eyes, deep green looking back at her. "It just eats at me that I never knew," she confided.

He blinked, possibly a little thrown off by that type of statement from her. "Hey, it wasn't like it happened overnight or anything. He's had a thing for you ever since you kissed him under the punch table at your cousin's wedding."

Dorothy started, "That was first grade."

"Second grade to us," he nodded, closing his eyes again.

"You're kidding," she shook her head, incredulous.

"You had your ups and downs. But basically," he waved it off.

She sat, at a total loss, staring at the coffee table beside her. How awful was she that she just honestly didn't see that? How could someone even possibly not notice?

"Dotty?"

She turned her worst glare at her friend, reminding him that she hated that nickname with a passion.

It got a smile out him for the effort. "Haven't warmed up to that, have you?" She shook her head no. "Fine." He scooted up to a sitting position, his knees bumping against hers as he faced her. "It's not going to happen, is it?"

Dorothy studied his eyes a moment, surprised that he even asked. But he returned her look, obviously wanting her to tell him the answer. "No," she quietly replied.

He scooted in even farther, his legs on either side of hers and leaned over to cross his elbows on her knees, looking up at her. "He never blamed you," he specifically stated. "He's not angry with you. A little hurt, yeah, but he's never thought that this was somehow your fault. He knows better than that."

She nodded, not having anything to say to that.

"He'll never forget you, but he'll move on." He leaned away from her and stood up, "Come here." He offered her a hand and pulled her up, wrapping her in a hug. "You two will be fine."

"Thanks," she whispered into his shoulder.

"You're welcome," he pulled back. "Besides, if I didn't have you two to patch up I'd have to work on my own love life." He released her and walked towards the door.

She smiled, "And how's that going?"

He shrugged and turned over his shoulder. "Same as always. I love them, they love Andrew, he couldn't care less. Life sucks."

Dorothy laughed, knowing that was about as unfortunately true as it could be. "Good to know that some things never change."

He sighed and narrowed his eyes at her. "Still need to work on the team pep-talks, General."

She batted her eyes innocently at him.

* * *

"Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake." - Victor Hugo

"Relationships are like glass. Sometimes it's better to leave them broken than try to hurt yourself putting it back together." - Author Unknown

AN: Please forgive some of the more 'corporate' aspects of the chapter, but it is something that these two will always deal with. :)

Proof read by: Random Pixie  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	24. Chapter 24

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 24

Quatre thanked the taxi driver and took his luggage as he stood once more outside of the chateau, but this time he had instructed the man to pull around to the side entrance where the little porch light was still on. Bundling his excuse for a jacket around him, he quickly punched in the security code Dorothy had given him and opened the door, letting himself in.

He decided that this section of Europe got way too cold at three o'clock in the morning for his tastes.

Locking it behind him and rearming the alarm system, he made sure the cab was out of the driveway before clicking off the porch light. Picking his way over the scattered piles of tile and sheetrock in the room, he did a quick inventory, checking off a couple things before turning off the light and heading down the hall.

Leaving after work, with travel and the time difference, put him here during the middle of the night but he had figured he'd be in better shape this way than if he'd waited until tomorrow. Besides, he was actually an hour earlier than he'd planned on being, since he'd kicked his Board of Directions out early.

…Alright, so he'd politely reminded them that they had been through the same topics at least once before and _recommended_ that they adjourn. But he took it as a personal victory.

He paused here and there at rooms and doorways, finding that the group had accomplished quite a bit in the time he was gone. It was strange walking through the massive building alone and un-chaperoned with everyone else upstairs asleep. But at the same time he had an odd sense of familiarity.

He felt as though he was coming home.

It certainly wasn't the house itself. The place was still dark and rather foreboding to him, as it was meant to be, he was sure. Most likely it was the idea of the group that was now being housed by it. The Maguanacs elicited every feeling of family from him, and the idea that they were almost all together here was wonderful.

And Dorothy. She wasn't technically one of the forty, but she was certainly bordering on family. She sort of ended up somewhere between exotically attractive distant cousin and nagging mother-in-law.

Quatre couldn't help but chuckle at the thought as he took a quick look into the ballroom, finding enough moonlight from patio doors to tell him that he was going to need a nap before starting to work on this again. Passing back the way he had come, he mentally categorized some of the mess and left the rest for dawn.

Ascending the stairs, he shut off the trail of lights that had been left on for him, trying to be very quiet as he reached the third floor. He passed through the hallway of doors, smiling at the feeling of being back where he belonged.

The double doors to the "family apartment," as Dorothy referred to it, were open, the candlestick chandelier in the center of the room dimmed down as far as it would go. He smiled at the care that she had taken and turned the light all the way off, the hallway lighting that was always on was more than enough for him to find his way to his door.

He slipped in, finding the room light on as well. Softly closing the door behind him he hoped he wouldn't wake Rasid in the next room. The man was half deaf from years of mobile suit maintenance, but he'd hear a pin drop from two hundred yards if you were trying to get away with something.

Quatre set his luggage down and took off the sport jacket, finding it good to be done traveling for at least a couple days. He hadn't finished unzipping his shirt bag before there was soft knock at his door. Shaking his head, he figured it was too much to ask not to wake his friend. He ran a hand through his hair and opened the door, expecting the person behind it to be about seven inches taller.

"Morning," Dorothy's tired smile greeted him.

"Dorothy. Uh, good morning," he fumbled before she waved him back and let herself in. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he hastily added. She was obviously right out of bed; a pair of baggy, but rather short, shorts and a t-shirt were half hidden under a fuzzy white bathrobe that she hadn't bothered to tie shut.

"No, I happened to be awake," she mumbled, hopping over and bouncing into a sitting position on the bed. "How was your trip?" she asked, and then uninterestedly tipped over to lay out diagonally on his bed.

He chuckled, more than amused with her as he finally closed the door, leaving it unlatched in case any of the guys got the wrong idea… and teased him for next thirty years about it. "The trip was fine. Although I've officially decided that it's a little cold around here for me," he smiled, walking back to the side of the bed.

"You guys," she sighed, but didn't open her eyes. "Good thing I didn't start this project in the middle of January when it's actually cold."

"It gets colder?" he asked.

She giggled before raising her head enough to add an elbow under it and nod up at him. "Afraid so."

He looked down and gave her a sympathetic smile, seeing the blurry look in her eyes. "You look so tired. I've kept you up enough this week." After the last couple days he felt more than a little guilty about taking any more sleep from her. She swore that it didn't bother her, but it couldn't be good for her either.

She hummed and nodded, rubbing at one of her eyes. "I'm lacking my beauty sleep," she teased. "I officially blame you for this zit on my chin."

He covered his laugh with a hand as she rolled onto her back and covered a yawn much the same way. "I'm sorry for your loss," he tried to apologize.

"Oh, I've got to look like a five day corpse anyway," she grumbled to herself.

"That's a morbid way of putting that, isn't it?" He took a light seat on the corner of the bed that she, or her hair, didn't take up. And in all honesty, he wouldn't have agreed with her at all.

"You've never heard that before? Lucky you." Turning back towards him, she laid on her side. "So, tell me about today."

He gave her a smile for the show of concern. He'd never have made it through these sessions without her reasoning… no matter how hard she was on him. He was quickly realizing that she made a good substitute for actual confidence. "How about I promise to tell you tomorrow, and you go back to bed?"

Dorothy gave him a weak smile and nodded before pushing herself back up to a sitting position. "Deal," she agreed. "Unless there's something…?" she trailed off to conserve energy and raised an eyebrow instead.

He shook his head, "No. Thank you though."

"Welcome," she stood back to her feet, and he stood as well as she came around the opposite side of the bed. Surprising him, she caught him in a quick hug. "Goodnight," she pecked a kiss on his cheek and turned out of his arms again. "Take a nap. Your timing is going to be off too," she tossed back over her shoulder as she let herself out and closed the door before he could agree.

He stood, blinking at the closed door before reaching up and rubbing at his cheek, smiling like an idiot. Moving the hand to run through his hair instead, he turned away, distinctly telling himself he needed to get over that reaction.

A soft knock was heard on his door again and he went back to open it, wondering what sage advice Dorothy had forgotten to tell him this time. However, the person behind it was about seven inches taller than he'd expected… with a lot more body hair.

* * *

"If the power conduit runs through here, then where do these thingies go?"

"Are you sure we need those parts?"

"I don't know. They were in the box."

"Guys, please. Would you let me read the instructions?" Quatre mumbled, trying to keep them quiet while he and Rasid poured through the life-sized schematic of the new track lighting that Dorothy ordered to replace the ballroom chandeliers.

"Instructions?" The group all started laughing. "We don't need instructions!"

The two men at the table sighed. Rasid shook his head, and Quatre rubbed at his eyes. "This is the colony shut-off gate all over again," he chuckled to the taller man, who nodded back.

The group only laughed harder.

"Master Quatre?" He turned to find Abdul squinting over his sunglasses at a piece of paper in his hands. "How good are you at deciphering Mistress Dorothy's handwriting?"

By this point he was down to simply ignoring the Mistress title, having spent an inordinate amount of time trying to correct it recently. "Was she in a hurry?" he asked fearfully.

Abdul pursed his lips and then nodded.

Quatre gave his friend a cringe and then stepped away from the table to his side and stared down at the scribble on the paper as well. "Three hundred ten?" he asked.

"No possible way," Abdul shook his head. "Can't be that long. I was thinking thirty?"

Tilting his head he looked at it again. The first number was definitely a three, but the little squiggle after it looked more like a lopsided 'w' than a number. It wasn't until he focused back on the three that he figured out that the reason it looked odd was because it was tilted the wrong way from her normal writing. "Six. It's thirty-six. She wrote it left-handed, didn't she?"

Abdul gave him a funny look. "She's not left-handed?"

Quatre smirked at him and shook his head, "No."

Abdul puffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"She broke her wrist in grade school and spent two months writing left-handed. She got to be passable at it."

Quatre and Abdul pivoted around, looking up the room's entryway steps behind them to find a young man leaning against the doorway. Sandy-blond hair was parted down the center, keeping it out of the dark brown eyes that were focused on them. The set of his jaw and the calculated expression didn't seem particularly friendly.

He blinked, not placing who this man was. But beside him Abdul snorted, "I guess that would explain that." Walking off, Abdul nodded a hello to the stranger and continued out the doorway and back to work.

Quatre found an unsettling feeling sink into his chest as the man once again turned his unreadable dark eyes back to him. "I'm assuming that you must be Mr. Winner?" he asked, still not moving from his place.

Quatre forced a polite smile and turned fully to look up at him. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, have we met?" he asked. Carefully he sealed himself down out of instinct, for no reason that he could understand, keeping his reactions mute.

"No," he stated before stepping away from the doorframe and walking down the steps to him. "I have, unfortunately, only heard of you," he smirked, an expression that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm a former schoolmate of Dorothy's," he explained, offering a hand as he stopped in front of him. "My name is Andrew Varnhem."

The knife that stabbed through his heart twisted painfully as Quatre caught his breath. He covered the instant flash of emotion that went through him by offering his hand as well, blinking back more feelings than he could name. "One of the legendary fencing team," he forced a shallow smile. "I've heard of you too, Mr. Varnhem."

There was only a flicker of surprise before the smirk turned to a crooked smile. "Dorothy always favors us too much." The man's handshake was quick and tight, nothing remotely hospitable in it. However, he turned away to cast a look over the room. "She's said that your group volunteered for this. Did you know what you were getting into?" he asked.

It could have been his own bias but Quatre didn't believe that the sentence was just innocently conversational. "Oh, we had a good idea," he answered.

Andrew's eyes came back to his, the scrutiny unmistakable in them. "Good to hear," he confirmed. Blinking the expression back, he added the smile again. "I don't mean to keep you. Can I find her somewhere?"

There was a very impolite part of him that wanted to tell the man where to start looking, but he bit it back with a nod. This wasn't his place, no matter what his own feelings were. "I believe she was starting on the rooms on the second floor, probably on the West end."

"Thank you. I'll find her," he nodded politely. "Good to meet you, Mr. Winner." He turned back towards the doors.

"You too," he stated, watching the man's back as he turned and mounted the steps out of the room.

Watching the empty doorway for a moment, Quatre's emotions boiled to a terrifying level of worry. Part of him wanted to race up the other stairwell, hoping that he'd make it to her first, to warn her, to take her and hide her or make her run away.

It wasn't his place.

In two months she hadn't even mentioned him, had never spoken his name again. He had assumed that it meant that she had come to terms with it. Hoped that perhaps she had even taken his advice and forsaken her original plan to talk to him again.

But if she hadn't… had he come back on his own?

And what did Andrew mean by having heard of him? If they had talked before, would Dorothy have said something about him? Should Quatre have actually made some sort of mention that he was aware of what had passed between the two?

He didn't realize that he'd coiled himself into a defensive posture until he jumped when Rasid's hand came down on his shoulder. "Master Quatre?" he asked, looking between him and the empty doorway. "Is something wrong?"

Quatre looked up at him, pushing back his own feelings of panic. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"That guy's been here before," one of the group behind them piped in.

Turning, he found them all on edge watching him, the lighting project forgotten for the moment. Soldiers, first and foremost.

But Quatre gave them a confused look. "Before?"

Rasid nodded down at him. "He and another man. Lady Dorothy seemed friendly with them, so we didn't worry."

Perhaps he was taking this all wrong. "This week?"

He nodded, "Thursday."

Well, of course. Andrew had just told him _"she said your group volunteered."_ He'd obviously had a conversation with her recently.

Dorothy was well aware of him then. She would have said something, to someone, if she didn't appreciate his intrusion. Wouldn't she? He actually had no idea how confident she was with everyone yet. But Rasid was here, the four members who had worked with her on Mars were here and several others that she knew well by now. She would have told them, right?

Quatre closed his eyes a moment and shook the thoughts back. "I'm sorry, I'm probably just overreacting." No one bought that and he knew it. Sighing, he gave them a half-hearted smile, "I'll talk to her later," he said instead. "Let's get this figured out," he moved back to the instruction sheet.

After a round of shrugging, the others moved back to the project as well, quickly dismissing the incident. Quatre wished he could do the same. He worked at not thinking about it, but the more he turned his brain to the project at hand, the more his stomach felt like a constant ball of lead.

Why hadn't she told him?

* * *

"I've threatened to impose a lights out on them. Didn't help either," Dorothy sighed and shook her head, handing him a mug.

Quatre thanked her and took it. With her main kitchen otherwise occupied, she had apologized more than once for the "improper" china and the "shameful" use of prepackaged tea bags.

He couldn't care less.

The two stood across the hall from the ballroom, watching the still remaining group scratch their heads at the neatly cut hole in the wall. The argument over the newly widened ballroom doorways had been waging since this afternoon, and Quatre and Dorothy had both resigned themselves to allowing the others to decide on the framing of the new doors themselves.

Again they lapsed into a comfortable silence, bored and waiting for the others to turn in as well. It was probably the thirtieth time that he'd had her basically alone in a place where he could bring up the topic that had slowly been gnawing on him all day. But still he stood beside her, trying to ignore the mess of his emotions, and trying to find a way to breach the subject.

He had unnerved himself all day long thinking about Andrew being somewhere in the house, and more importantly, somewhere with Dorothy. He had no idea how long the man had stayed, what he had actually been there for, when he had left, anything.

It was enough to drive his tediously calculated side over the edge.

And Dorothy was just perfectly fine. Perfectly, normally, wonderfully, what could possibly be better, all is right in the freaking world, fine!

"You don't like it, do you?"

He came back to reality again; the sound of her voice next to his shoulder was almost enough to make him spill the tea he hadn't touched yet. "No, no it's fine. Just a little warm," he made his excuse.

She gave him a curious look but didn't refute him. "You must be tired. You haven't said much this evening." She reached over his shoulder to comically check his temperature.

It was actually a kind-hearted touch, but he shied away from it, raising his cup to take a sip to cover for it.

Tasting it he noted that she had added a cube of sugar to it, the way he usually took it. "Earl Grey?" he asked, hoping to dislodge the ache that had hit his chest.

"Yes," she nodded down to her own cup. "It was one of the only kinds Grandfather drank. I think we still have three cases of the stuff," she explained.

They both looked up again as the group broke into a round of "yes it is," and "no it isn't."

Leaning into his side she quietly whispered, "How long are they going to keep this up?"

"Battle of wills," he responded without thinking, his mind once again somewhere else. He noticed it too late, especially when Dorothy turned to him again with a confused expression. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Giving him a chagrined smile she took his cup back out of his hand. "Maybe you shouldn't have the caffeine." Sweeping away, she started off again towards the west end and the kitchen area. "Goodnight, boys," she called over her shoulder.

The group quit their arguing exactly long enough to give her a chorus of "goodnight" and then started right back in.

And Quatre stood, painfully aware that he was an idiot.

Swallowing, he looked after her swaying trail of hair and mentally slapped himself. He forced his feet to follow her down the hall, easily doubling her pace. "Dorothy?"

She stopped and turned to look back at him. He met her eyes as he slowed to a stop, still more than a few feet away. There was a patient look of expectation to her eyes and he realized that she was specifically waiting for him to spit it out.

How did she get to know him this well?

Knowing that she already knew something was wrong, he pushed down his churning stomach. "Can I talk to you?" he asked instead.

Dorothy blinked, and gave their surroundings a quick look over, obviously wondering if the deserted hallway wasn't an appropriate enough place for him. He didn't feel like explaining that they were still far too close to the others for what he wanted to talk to her about, but she seemed to get it.

Meeting his eyes again she paused and then gave him the barest trace of a nod before promptly turning and walking off. He mentally chalked that up to the oddities of Dorothy Catalonia and started after her once more.

Leading him along, she turned down a small hallway towards the middle of the wing that he hadn't been down before. She didn't bother to switch on any lights as they went, but the pillar of pale blond was easy enough to follow. The hall was short and they came out into a long narrow sitting area.

"The observation lounge," she stated as she ushered him in.

The only light that entered this area was from the hallway they had come through, but he couldn't find anything in the outlines of chairs and tables to explain what he was supposed to be observing. "Why do you call it…?"

He trailed out as Dorothy juggled their cups enough to work a control next to the doorway, and a motorized sound hummed as light caught his eye from his right side. At the far side of the room a light opened up in stair step intervals as it traveled along towards them. Turning to his left, he noticed the same thing happening from that direction as well.

It took a minute for the expansive room to open up in front of him as retractable shielding pulled away from the walls and ceiling of glass. By the time the metal retracted all the way, he stood facing out into the gardens of the backyard, the large moon hanging high above them.

The room—as he had been referring to it—was actually much more like an enclosed porch, or an attached greenhouse. It offered a full hundred and eighty degree view of the landscape and the "moat." The fog was low, coming just off the water and creeping like a vine over the banks.

"_That_ would be why it's called the observation lounge," she added, coming up beside him once more.

"Understandable," he commented, a little awe-struck. Turning to look at her through the moonlit room he gave her a tight smile. "Do all of your houses do something like this?"

Dorothy giggled at the mention and nodded. "You have to see why the lack of view on colony annoys me." She turned away to one of a long string of chairs and tables, setting the cups down. "But unlike there, I have to suffer through seasons when there is nothing to look at here."

Looking out himself he couldn't have agreed less. "I think it's pretty."

"It's always pretty at night," she agreed, rummaging through something. "This used to be my favorite spot, especially when it rained. The water runs over the curve of the roof and off the sides. It's a fun little diversion."

Her admission brought up a genuine smile. And for the first time since this morning's meeting, it made him feel close to her once again. Turning, he looked down to where she was moving things around and slowly paced along to her. Between the tables and actual sitting areas, she had collected a group of large floor pillows from somewhere and piled them in an unused area of the floor.

Turning, she crossed her ankles and easily plopped down on the floor, using a pillow as a backrest against the room's wall. She looked up at him, his shadow half hiding her, and patted a spot on the floor next to her.

Quatre laughed at the display but then shrugged and did as instructed. "You tend to have a number of polar-opposite features, do you know that?" he asked, arranging the pillows around him to get comfy.

"Such as?"

He crossed his ankles and pulled his knees up, extending his arms to lay over them. "You can sit prim, proper and graceful through any endless formalities, and then end up sitting on the floor in your dress when you get home." They both chuckled at the image. Shaking his head, he smiled, "You're absolutely impossible to figure out."

Again she laughed and nodded beside him as they stared out at the moonlit gardens. She shifted enough to bump her shoulder into his. "Stop trying so hard," she purred. "I've never been good for your health."

He idly nodded, feeling he did have to admit that. The other thing that he had to admit to was that he really did need to stop trying to control her so closely.

Dorothy grabbed another pillow and then set it up on its end, turning to hug it between them and coiling onto her side around it. Laying her chin on top, she braced her shoulder into her original pillow and stared at him. "So?" she asked. "Out with it, already."

He had almost been conned into thinking how cute she was all curled up with her pillows, but the thought was stillborn as he had to come back to what had been nagging at him all day.

She didn't move, did nothing but sit there and look at him, waiting for him to start.

She wasn't going to like this. He turned away again to look out at the dark shapes of the night grounds. Somewhere inside, the nagging ache turned itself off, just leaving him cold through the middle. "I had the pleasure of meeting Andrew Varnhem this morning."

Whatever Dorothy was expecting, that wasn't it. "Oh… I suppose that didn't go over well."

He turned back, staring down at her slouched position, half of him wanting to just shake her. "We were both pleasant."

"Of course you were. You're both respectable men," she sighed. Dropping her face she buried it into the pillow.

The reaction was more annoying than anything else but he couldn't place why. What did he expect from her? "Why didn't you tell me?" he quietly asked, forcing the feeling in his chest into words.

She raised her face to look up at him. "Tell you what?"

_What you're still doing with the jerk!_ he mentally screamed. Quatre realized that he was taking this a little hard and specifically collected himself. "That you talked to him again."

She sniffed, "What was I going to say? 'Hello, dear, just called to inform you of my daily activities. First I'm going to have a bagel for breakfast, with orange juice and a cappuccino. Then I'm going to go shopping for hats. And then go see the poor, miserable soul whose heart I crushed. And then I think I'll take in a movie after dinner.' Quatre, I am not a little girl, I can take care of my own affairs."

"Well, you didn't do very well to begin with, did you?" he bitterly reminded her.

The words were already out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He shocked himself into total silence, not believing he'd actually said that to her.

Dorothy didn't move, but she did find her voice first. "You're right. That was a mistake."

The blow would have been softer if she'd hit him instead.

"I had no reason, and no right, to pour that out on you. I'm—"

"Dorothy! Stop it, please." He turned to face her, the pillow she held protected her from his impulse to grab her and hug her whether she liked it or not. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Please, don't tell me that it was a mistake," he pleaded, his emotions swimming in knots as they were all shouting at him at once.

He knew it was just her defenses kicking in, but he didn't want to hear her say that it had been a mistake. He didn't want to believe that she really wished she hadn't done it. He didn't want to think that she regretted talking to him, confiding in him, trusting him.

He didn't want to feel that his concern for her was wasted.

"You have to know by now that I care about you. I need you to know that I care." He paused, looking over her silvered features. "I'm not trying to keep track of your life. As much as I'd like to know at every given second that you're all right, I can't. And I'm sorry if I'm making you feel like you're being watched, but I can't ignore what I know you've been through."

Poor Dorothy didn't seem to know what to do, but she did take a hand away from her pillow and timidly reached over to touch his face in the shadowy light. This time he leaned into the touch, knowing the soft, feathery feel that she always had.

"You are one of the strongest people I know," he softly continued. "I'm sure you probably think I'm being stupid for this, but it eats at me to know that he hurt you. That you were in that kind of pain because of someone, and there's nothing I can do about it."

Her thumb traced over his cheek in response and he closed his eyes, feeling drained by telling her. "Oh, Quatre," he heard her whisper.

Looking up again he focused on her over the pillow; he had to find her pale eyes mostly by memory in the moonlight. He hoped that she would understand. Prayed that she would let him back in, open up to him, let him help her.

"Sweetheart… you've really had a bad week, haven't you?" she tenderly asked.

What?

"I… uh… b…" He gave up with a pitiable groan and hung his head, slumping back into his pillow. Well, what had he expected from her? He should have known by now. "Yeah," he dejectedly agreed. And this was just the icing on the cake.

She chuckled and he only slumped over farther, hitting his head into her pillow. "I don't understand why you're taking this so hard," she said, humor evident in her voice as her fingers brushed through his hair.

"Well, to begin with, I'm pouring out my heart and you're laughing at me," he grumbled, still face down in the pillow.

"What was that?"

Sighing, he lifted his face towards hers again, staring her down nose to nose over the squishy little shield. "I said that for starters I'm being laughed at."

"I am not laughing at you," she protested. "I'm trying to get to the root of the problem."

"By laughing at me," he suggested.

"Quatre, this is my problem. I don't understand why you are the one having difficulties with it," she sagely explained.

He stopped, looking at her. "That's the difference between you and me," he softened. "It ceased being just your problem the minute you confided in me."

Dorothy opened her mouth to say something, but faltered into silence.

Quatre suddenly felt a little self-conscious over being so close to her and leaned back again, finding a comfortable spot beside her. "I don't mean to pry. I know how much you would hate being coddled. But you have to remember who you're talking to."

He could see her smirk rise even through the shadows. "I have to remember that you take everything too personally, and you have trouble remembering what's your fault?"

He resigned himself to a smile at the tease. "I have trouble choosing my friends," he corrected.

"I've always told you to be careful with me," she purred. Shifting, she took advantage of his seated position and flopped her pillow against him. Scooting herself down she laid out on her side using her pillow, and her new prop, and made herself comfortable. "That's alright. I still like you."

He looked down at the blond, and the oversized pillow, that had rudely taken residence against his lap and could do nothing but laugh. All he wanted sometimes was to be able to keep one emotion around her long enough to feel it. But instead, he came to the same revelation that he always did. He had no idea what she was doing to him.

Stealing her—now unused—pillow he bunched it beside him and rested his elbow on it to prop his chin up with. "I like you too," he softly answered her, meaning it whole-heartedly.

Dorothy now lay fully in the strip of light, the shadows not hiding her face any longer. With her turned away from him, out towards the gardens, he found enough courage to gently move a lock of her hair off of her shoulder. He got a little hum from her in response and figured that she obviously didn't mind.

"I still don't feel right about what happened," she softly admitted. "It's not the same anymore."

"You two haven't really talked in most of two years. It wouldn't be the same even if there weren't other factors involved. You've changed."

"Is it normal not to notice changes?"

Quatre nodded to himself, thinking of a number of things that he took for granted in the people around him. Dorothy was a prime example herself. So were Trowa, Heero, Relena, Duo, many of the guys here. They were all… growing up, no matter how old they were. "I think so."

They lapsed into their own thoughts, quiet between themselves. But there were still a number of things that nagged him about Andrew's introduction this morning. Things that he couldn't make sense of.

Looking down he watched her profile a moment, feeling his stomach turn again… but somehow in a good way this time. She was beautiful, outlined in the muted light. She was peaceful here, for a moment in time. Dorothy could be ruthless, relentless, masterfully manipulative and rather evil if the situation called for it.

But she was also a kindhearted woman, and whether she liked it or not, sometimes she needed someone there by her side. "Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered, cautious of disturbing her sleeping temper.

"It didn't go as badly as I'd originally thought," she began. "We both made our apologies, and then he left."

"Left?"

"Andrew and Byron are just back from their Preventers cadet courses. They popped by to see what kind of mess I was making this week."

She sounded almost bored with the whole thing and Quatre figured he'd never actually know the truth. It probably didn't matter. She seemed all right, and that was all he could ask for. Except…. "Are you trying to be friends again?"

"We're pretending," she answered. "Byron's trying, but it's just too uncomfortable for us to say much of anything."

He nodded, not feeling that it would be appropriate to congratulate those feelings. "What now?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I wish I could fix this. But right now, all I can do is hope for the best, and let them leave again."

She silently fell into her own thoughts, and he wished that he could make this better for her too. For them, even if he did have the distinct impression that the feelings between himself and Andrew were mutual.

He paused, thinking through their meeting again. "Dorothy?"

"Yes."

"Is there a reason he would not like me? Or… even know me?" he asked, wondering about the specific introduction.

"Did he say something?" she asked, pushing herself up to her elbows and moving to look back at him.

Quatre shrugged at her. "He introduced himself, but already seemed to know who I was."

Dorothy paused, mulling it over. "Possibly. He knows we've worked together and been social. He's even mentioned you specifically. He…" she stopped, looking away as some type of understanding hit her. "Oh."

He waited a minute, watching her. "Oh?" he prodded.

"Oh," she groaned and dropped her head into the pillow against him again. "Why am I such a bloody idiot?" came the muffled yell. "That's it!" she popped her head back up and promptly rolled over on her back, flopping her head back down, about knocking the wind out of him in the process. "I'm bringing back arranged marriages," she announced. "Find me some worthless man nobody likes and I can make him miserable for the rest of my life. I am never having a relationship again!"

Quatre tried very hard to bite back his chuckles at her little temper-tantrum. "You didn't actually start this one," he reminded her.

"Gaa!" she moaned. Finding an extra pillow beside her she picked it up and smashed it over her face before letting out a string of very un-lady-like expletives that would have made Duo proud.

And Quatre burst out laughing. The display was so untypical of Dorothy that it was honestly funny. "I don't get it," he finally sobered, and gently tugged the pillow away from her face, which she fought against. Finally uncovering her, he gave her a reassuring smile, "What is it?"

"Don't you see?" she half-sighed, half-whined. "As far as Andrew knows, we met at Miss Relena's school. And then all of sudden, I pack up and practically move into a colony investment project after the war, with who else but you, forsaking everyone else originally in my life. What do you suppose that looks like?"

He blinked down at her, a bit thrown off. "How would he know I was at Miss Relena's school?"

She chuckled, "You're forgetting that he is as much a Romafeller as I am. He's resourceful."

That idea was a little chilling. He'd always known that Dorothy was an exception to the rules, but that was mainly because she was a woman. The entire organization prided itself on knowing anything it wanted. "Should I be worried?" he asked softly, wondering just how far a jilted-lover could dig around these groups if he was bitter enough.

"From this side? No," she answered with a shake of her head. "You have no idea to what pains some of us went through to ensure that there was no provable evidence of your dear little group left in Romafeller hands."

"Us?"

Dorothy turned enough to give him a standard smirk. "You have a number of high-ranking friends in government."

He nodded, "Friends with former Romafeller connections?"

"And former OZ, former Alliance, former special interest groups, so on and so forth," she answered. "But just because there is nothing to convict you of war crimes doesn't mean there are not people who know."

"Meaning?"

"Rumors are ugly," she narrowed her eyes. "Much like Commander Une's 'accusations,' all we can do is refute them. As to who knows what… well, there is a price to anyone. Unfortunately, that works both ways." She turned away again, focusing out into the gardens once more. "However, since your heroic display of above-the-call patriotism during dear MarieMaia's uprising, the general public has specifically decided to care less."

Quatre sat, watching her as she rambled on with her speech, wondering exactly how much of these things the Lady Catalonia had a finger in. "…By design?" he accused.

Dorothy gave a mischievous little giggle and specifically raised a hand to smooth out one of her infamous eyebrows. "Sweet, naive Quatre, you're learning."

He backed down the annoyed reaction to her comment, focusing. "You're not worried about anyone specifically putting this together because the mainstream media won't touch it anymore anyway."

"Public opinion has been bought and sold like candy for thousands of years. All you need is a willing group of high investors to persuade it."

"A group you just happen to belong to," he clarified, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the knowledge he was gaining.

"No, dear." She turned and crossed her arms on the pillow, resting her chin on them, meeting his eyes as she lounged against his chest. "A group that I find I have a number of similar beliefs as. Membership is reserved for those who have been far more proven than I am. I, as you should already know, am only the recon agent."

He suddenly hated it when she turned to talking without saying a single thing. "Which means?"

Dorothy gave him her trademarked smirk before closing her eyes and specifically looking bored again. "It means that whether or not anyone stumbles over your little secret, you are safe."

"Safe from prosecution. But not safe from them," he corrected.

She blinked her eyes back open and curiously looked at him. "Do you honestly believe that no one knows already? Quatre, really. I walked into Miss Relena's school with a twelve-page file on you alone. Did you think that all of OZ's best researchers just up and disappeared out of existence once you detonated the suits?"

He blinked, a cold spot etched out of his chest as he stared down at the conniving little minx in front of him.

Dorothy apparently saw it and chuckled, giving him an innocent bat of her lashes. "Oh, yes, I'm not supposed to know about that, am I?" Shrugging, she closed her eyes and snuggled herself in again. "You gentlemen may be the best in your skills, but you're atrociously sloppy."

"And you are the best at your skills," he whispered, feeling his head swim.

"You'd better hope that a number of us are."

"A number of who?"

"Ah, not your job," she sidestepped.

Anger flashed through him at the refusal. This was his life that she was playing with. All of their lives if something happened. If….

And as quickly as it came, it died again as he stared down at the woman resting easily against him. "If something happened" had never come. And that was apparently in good part due to a faceless group of powerful supporters, herself included.

"I no longer have my job," he specifically told her.

"You don't have the same job," she corrected, still not bothering to look at him. "You are still a survivor, and as such, you are called to the same job we all share. Within a year or two, I will probably be out of my chosen position as well, it doesn't mean I'm done."

Understanding washed through him as he thought about it. "You assume people will stop looking by then."

"They have stopped looking. I'm hoping that people will start forgetting by then."

Quatre stopped, unable to find anything else to say. His thoughts were chaotic, but his heart was numb. He turned to the blotchy shadows and the gray fog that was slowly encroaching in on them, not seeming to want to startle them by moving too fast. Very few would even notice it overtaking them.

He couldn't help but focus on Dorothy again, almost happily oblivious to the confusion and hurt in him. Truthfully, he had no right to feel slighted by her confession. He should be grateful. She was, in all honestly, guarding them. Guarding him. It was just a shock, that was all. Just not what he had expected… or wanted.

But it made him doubt her. He didn't want it to, didn't want to admit to it, but he had to. He had to question her motives. He had to confront the reality that everything in her life could easily be one of her plots. He hated to feel that, but should he be… wary of her?

He trusted her. Knew her. Cared for her. Crud, he loved her. But he was also afraid of her. And it sickened him.

She was only protecting him—them. Lady Catalonia was far more advanced in what she could do than most, and she was far more willing to put herself on the line for it. There was nothing he could do but leave it in her hands.

"_That girl is trouble, and I'm still not a hundred percent sure she's on our side."_ Duo's words from months back caught up to him again. The other had been unconvinced of Dorothy's loyalties, but of course at the time Quatre had easily dismissed the idea.

Maybe he shouldn't have.

But he didn't want to think that way. He didn't feel in his heart that she would ever truly betray them… him. Maybe it just scared him to be confronted with how much she could keep from him.

"Dorothy?" He gently brushed her hair back from her face, forcing it over her back.

Blinking her eyes open she looked up at him. "Yes?"

"May I ask you something?" he whispered to her, fiddling with her hair.

She smiled, "You may always ask. I make no promises about answering, however."

Quatre moved his hand to brush against her cheek. Either the fog had overtaken them or there were some thin clouds that now dimmed the stark moonlight down to a pale shadow. But he could still see her, and right now he needed more than anything to ease that tone out of her. Wanting the real her. The kind woman he still felt he knew. "Answer me something then," he challenged her. "Honestly, answer me."

He could feel her shift and in his heart he knew she would. "Alright," she answered, obviously a little nervous about agreeing.

"If worst comes to worst. If something happened… you'd stay with us, wouldn't you?" He caressed his thumb over her cheek, trying to reassure himself as much as her.

It was obviously not a question she had an easy answer to, and she seemed more than surprised that he'd asked. But she took her time in coming to an answer, obviously weighing it. He didn't rush her, made no move to hurry her. He didn't want to believe that it would make any difference no matter what she said.

He knew that was a lie.

"You're asking if I would stay beside you," she clarified. "I can't make that promise," she answered, hesitant.

"No. As much as I'd like to know that, I understand you better than that," he answered. "I want to know if you'd be on the same side. I can never see you as an enemy again, Dorothy. I won't fight you again."

He felt her cheek twitch with a smile. "That I will promise you," she answered. "You will never meet me on the battlefield. I can't say that I will always choose my side automatically because of anyone, but I think our beliefs are close enough now that we won't have that trouble."

Dorothy raised herself up to her hands and knees and he was forced to release his tiny little touch on her. But instead, she batted the pillow between them out of the way and crawled in to sit eye to eye with him.

The move cast her mostly into shadow again but he sat still, letting her pull in close to him. "I believe in you. And the others. Your pure nobility isn't something I can strive for anymore, but I have always belonged behind those of your strength. And if you need me, I will be there."

He reached out, wrapping her into a hug. She fell easily against him and he held her tight, knowing he could never let her go.

One of her hands on his chest balled into a fist around a piece of his shirt and she shifted only enough make her voice heard from his shoulder. "Please don't doubt me," she whispered. "My motives may not always be the purest, but the only goal I have left is to protect the few people still in my life that I care about."

He wouldn't. Quatre would never doubt her again.

"Thank you," he whispered to her, meaning it in every way she deserved. "Thank you." Dorothy relaxed into him, curling her legs around his side and lying against him.

She was far from a guardian angel, but in the gray of the night, he wanted her to be one.

* * *

They stayed there for probably another couple hours, talking, laughing, arguing, whatever came to mind until the fog had crept all the way through the garden plants and the moon had disappeared behind the tall roofline of the house.

They had found themselves on their backs, turned so that they laid in opposite directions, their heads close together. And Quatre had gotten his first Earth-based astronomy lesson as Dorothy idly pointed out constellations that they could barely make out through the glass roof and the wispy clouds that kept passing by.

It finally got to the point where every other sentence was interrupted by a yawn and Dorothy was shivering from lying on the floor of the glassed-in porch while the temperatures outside dropped to the freezing point.

They fought the giggles as they literally tripped over each other on the stairs, trying to be quiet as they snuck towards the apartment in the silently sleeping house. Finally making it to the double doors in the middle of the hall he pushed one open for her, finding the light inside still on.

And Rasid, calmly reading a paper, in one of the sitting area's chairs.

They both froze in the doorway as he specifically looked them both over and just as specifically turned to the side wall where the ornate wooden pendulum clock stood. Both of the teenagers followed his line of sight and then fought back cringes as the brass hands read just after one a.m.

Rasid returned his eyes to them, completely silent. Quatre swallowed and then very quietly closed the door behind him. Dorothy seemed to shrug it off as she walked in and gave the older man a smile. "Sweet of you to wait up," she smiled demurely. Bending beside him, she even pecked a kiss on his cheek and then proceeded to her room. "Goodnight, gentlemen," she breezed past, her hair swaying behind her.

Hair that was messed up and uncharacteristically tangled.

Rasid turned back to the younger man after Dorothy's door had closed securely behind her. A low growl of a hum rumbled from his throat and the younger man only managed a tight, embarrassed smile before very specifically turning and walking to his own room.

* * *

"Home is not where you live but where they understand you." - Christian Morgenstern

"The quickest way for a parent to get a child's attention is to sit down and look comfortable." - Lane Olinghouse

Proof read by: Random Pixie  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	25. Chapter 25

AN: I realize that _Episode Zero_ is supposed to be the background for our beloved characters, but it's so danged depressing. And Quatre's chapter is no exception. Eventually I want to get through all of it, but this chapter will focus specifically on what he knows of his own history and his life before Sandrock. If you haven't read it, I hope I won't confuse you, and bear with me because I know it is a very different side of him than we get in the show.

_Revelations  
_by Isis  
Chapter 25

"How much trouble are we in?" she whispered, not acknowledging his presence beside her as she continued her work at filling the coffee machine.

"Oddly enough, none that I can tell," he responded in kind, hiding the words behind his raised cup.

"If Rasid starts threatening to tie you to a whipping post, I'm not sure I'm going to know who to root for."

Poor Quatre obviously got his coffee to go down the wrong way as he sputtered and coughed a minute, waving off the roomful of concerned looks that turned towards them. "Hot," he meekly excused himself.

And Dorothy went right back on with her work, as soon as she was sure he didn't need medical attention, her smirk unmistakable but specifically turned away from the rest of the group. It was truly nice to have the house full of such tease-able, worthy soldiers again.

* * *

"Um… Mistress Dorothy?"

She checked off a number of things on the list before tucking the pencil behind her ear and acknowledging Auda's obviously confused features. "Yes?"

"Um, could you come over here," he vaguely pointed back down the hallway.

Dorothy decided that she honestly didn't want to know any sooner than she needed to. Preparing herself, she casually took his arm and the two picked their way through the crowded hall. Reaching the first floor landing, she found a group of four other men standing around, looking hopelessly lost.

It was then that she heard soft sounds of moaning and… an Emerson poetry recital? "Davonte?" she questioned as she slipped through the men surrounding him. Her dear friend knelt on the floor in front of the, now discarded, sculpted angel that had hung on the third floor's stairway wall for the last hundred years.

The angel was a very pretty piece of plaster, but it was almost life-sized and the poor thing was deteriorating. She/he/it had been taken down from its place of honor and was moved to the bottom of the open stairway, no longer able to guard the steps it had overlooked.

"Do you have any bloody idea how long this took to sand and polish? The love and care put into a piece like this?" he asked, never moving from his sacred spot in front of the angel.

It actually was a rather dejected looking thing, Dorothy noted for the first time. It was different seeing it up close instead of several feet above your head. "Davonte, the poor thing is ready to fall apart. The only reason it hasn't come down before is that no one's had the heart."

The artist was in no mood for reasoning as one of his hands lovingly caressed the folds in the "cloth" wrapping around the body. "You don't have a heart at all, do you?" he bitterly asked, still not looking back at her. "Some poor, nameless sculptor is rolling over in his grave right now."

"Von, it's a chunk of plaster," she reasoned down to the top of his head.

"Chunk of plaster? _Chunk of plaster__!_" he went artistically indignant and she rolled her eyes and then waved the other guys back a few paces just in case this turned ugly. "Is the Mona Lisa only a piece of canvas to you too? Is the Sistine Chapel merely a building? I suppose "Romeo and Juliet" is only a bedtime story, and the "Third Sonata" is just kind of pretty!"

"Von!" she screeched over his tirade. "Let her go, dear, it's her time," she calmly patted his shoulder as the man simply deflated in front of the crumbly angel. Giving him what she considered a sufficient moment of silence she turned to leave. "Now get off your knees, you're embarrassing your gender."

The other guys cringed around her as the man stayed rooted to the spot and gave a hopeless little moan in answer.

Dorothy sighed to herself and turned back to him, raising a hand to her hip before settling for a new tactic. Stepping back over to his side, she leaned down next to his shoulder. "You're getting plaster dust on your pants."

Leave it to a fashion conscious man in black slacks to make that actually work. "Oh bloody crud," he grumbled, rising to his feet again to brush off the fine powder from his knees and shins.

She used the only advantage she was going to get and waved the guys in immediately, wrapping her arms securely around her friend's waist. The Maguanacs raced in, grabbed the angel, hoisting it easily between three of them and carrying it out toward the kitchen entrance and the outside dumpster.

"No!" Davonte cried, realizing he'd been duped.

"This is for your own good," she soothed, holding him back as much as she possibly could considering their size difference. "You have to let it go."

"Let go of me! Bring her back!"

"Von, it's her time. There's nothing you can do for her," she tried to calm him even though she was being dragged along after him as her stocking feet slid across the tile at the foot of the staircase. "We can't remold it. It's too brittle, it won't take the stress."

Dorothy felt like she was trying to unplug his mother from life-support or something.

"But you can't just throw her away," he softened as the guys made it out of sight down the hall with the prized object. "Oh, I feel so neglectful," he stopped finally, but Dorothy didn't dare let go of him yet. "Someday my artwork is going to come off the walls and be thrown away too, and there will be no one to plead for me."

She squeaked as he dropped to his knees again, completely ignoring the hold she still had around him.

"I have faced my own mortality," he prophetically stated to no one in particular.

Dorothy rolled her eyes but then hesitantly moved around his side to face him, ensuring that she didn't let go of him all at once in case he bolted for it. "Von, sweetheart, really, you're being far too melodramatic." She knelt down to one knee in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

She noted a little late as she glanced over his shoulder that they had drawn a crowd with their little display. In the opposite hallway Quatre and Rasid and a couple others stood looking on, obviously wondering just how concerned they should be at the display.

Flashing them a smile, she turned back to her crestfallen friend. "Come on, dear. I'll replace her with your beautiful Guinevere painting that's raising dust bunnies in the upstairs library. This will be a nice, proud spot for it."

He slowly raised his golden eyes to hers. "I've always hated where you put that."

She shrugged, "I asked for four by three. You gave me twelve by nine."

"I was inspired," he defended himself.

Dorothy finally chuckled at him and then moved to give him a light hug. "Don't sacrifice yourself now, I have fourteen more rooms to do and then I have to re-hang them all."

She rose back to her feet and then helped him up as well. "You still owe me for this," he grumbled, brushing his pants down again and moving for the stairs.

Dorothy dropped her head and rubbed at her temples before going after him. "Why me?"

Quatre tried very hard to keep his chuckles hidden as the group in the hall watched the two finish their battle. Auda and the others peeked in from around the corner all the way down the hall next to the kitchen entrance before finding the coast clear enough for them to re-enter.

He managed to compose himself before Dorothy and Davonte could get all the way up the stairs. Clearing his throat to quiet the group with him he stepped into the clearing of the seven-storied tower of steps. "Dorothy?"

They both stopped to look back down at him from the middle of the staircase.

"I hate to interrupt," he started as the others behind him chuckled again, and the first group decided to hide just around the corner, and out of the artist's sight. "But we need a color," he reminded her, holding up her makeshift color sheet that she'd started on, but was a room shy of finishing for the day.

"Oh," she sighed. "What are my options?" she turned back to business again.

"Blue or pink," he listed off the half-squiggles on the sheet.

She broke a mischievous smile and then leaned on the railing in front of her, propping her chin up. "But darling, I thought we decided we didn't want to know and leave it a surprise," she batted her eyes down at him.

"Dorothy!" Davonte went mock-aghast. She turned to him to give him a sheepish little smile. He shook his head, "I always knew it would come to this."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she dropped her act and stared at him.

Meanwhile, Quatre stood looking between the sheet and the two completely at a loss. Finally he turned to the collection of men around him and got nothing but shrugs and blank looks from them too. They were now supposed to surprise her with paint colors? That didn't seem like a smart idea considering eight of them were colorblind.

"Your poor grandfather," Davonte bemoaned until Dorothy punched him in the arm.

"I can end your career very quickly," she threatened. He chuckled but rubbed at the offended spot anyway until they both looked down at the Maguanacs again. Obviously they were expecting something besides blank stares though. "Joke," she specifically held up both hands in surrender.

Davonte shrugged at her, "I thought it was funny."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow and Quatre blinked at her. "Blue or pink… keeping it a surprise… ha ha," she prodded.

Finally a couple "Oh"s came from the surrounding crowd, but Quatre still stood absolutely blank at the reference. It wasn't until the others started an accusatory round of "Master Quatre!" that he pieced together _baby_ colors with painting a room and not wanting to know ahead of time. Catching on he dropped his head with a sigh, attempting to keep himself from blushing at the concept of….

Yeah, not blushing wasn't going to happen.

"My jokes just aren't going to be funny if I have to explain them," he heard Dorothy mumble over the crowd of "appalled" comments and "shotgun wedding" remarks.

"Mistress Dorothy, you should be careful with jokes like that," Auda called from beside him as the taller man's hands landed on his shoulders. "We can kick him out for something like that," he good-naturedly warned.

Quatre only sighed again, completely mortified in front of the entire group.

"Kicked out?" Dorothy questioned. "When do I get this rule book, anyway?"

"You have a code of etiquette?" Davonte asked. When a number of agreements were heard the man obviously chuckled. "How very Arthurian. I love it!"

There was a—very familiar—sound of a displeased hum from his side and Quatre raised his eyes to give Rasid a nervous smile. The look he got in return made him turn away again.

"Well, now that this is sufficiently botched, the rosey-pink color sample," she finally answered. "Come along, dear. I have tacky wallpaper that needs to come off," she shooed her artistic partner along.

Quatre quickly turned and kept his head down as he moved out of the stairwell through the group, attempting to avoid the comments that he could now match her color choice.

And trying to ignore the sting in his chest.

* * *

Quatre found a way to get through the rather crude remarks about his "fatherhood." He could even get through the list of girls' names suggested for his "child." When pressed, he even managed to laugh off the idea that the other men's wives and girlfriends could host a baby shower for Dorothy and invite his sisters. And he could ignore the little cardboard cutouts of pink baby clothes that were magically appearing here and there around the chateau.

However, after being literally and physically cornered alone in a room with Rasid for most of an hour, he decided to voluntarily draw the short stick and go out in the cold, dark evening for a list of supplies before the stores closed. He had never been so happy to escape his friends in all his life.

He was only mildly regretting it as he fumbled with the sacks and boxes as he opened the kitchen door once more and backed his way in, sliding around to shut it behind him and blinking back the tears in his eyes from the wind-chill.

"Bit cool this evening?"

"I will never complain about it being hot in the desert again," he agreed, not bothering to find where Dorothy was in the stacks of supplies.

He heard her chuckle as he moved towards the doors, sniffing and blinking back the frozen tears in his vision. "You might not want to say you're back yet," she lightly called after him.

This time he did turn to find her sitting on the edge of the counter, a notepad in her hand and a pencil behind her ear. "Why's that?"

She gave him a thoughtful smile, "I realize that the joke this morning was in poor taste, but I'm beginning to regret it all the way around."

Quatre felt slightly nauseous again at the thought and sighed, giving her a quick look again. "You're hiding too, aren't you?"

"No, I'm inventorying," she responded. When he raised an eyebrow, she shrugged, "Alright, yes, I'm hiding."

He gave her a chuckle, "Well, I refuse to take the chance of deserving another lecture, so I think I'm going to have to let you hide on your own."

"Lecture?"

He leaned back against the wall, still holding the supplies. "I really don't want to talk about it," he quietly confessed.

Dorothy gave him a look of surprise, "Oh, dearest, I'm sorry."

Quatre looked away, embarrassed beside himself, "You know, I'd always thought that I'd missed those types of fatherly conversations."

He tried to laugh it off, but he looked back to find a rather confused expression on her from the opposite side of the room. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Uh… I'll be in the ballroom," he hurriedly sidestepped and practically ran from the room.

* * *

It couldn't have been more than a couple minutes later that the door to the kitchen reopened and she looked up from where she half-knelt, half-sat on the island countertop, trying to find a way to see all the boxes in the room. She watched as Quatre entered once more, without his new purchases, and silently slumped onto one of the stools around the counter, an adorable little blush to his cheeks once again.

She raised an eyebrow at him when he finally turned to acknowledge her. "You're safer than they are," he reasoned, dejectedly dropping his forehead against the high counter.

Dorothy tried to bite down the laugh, but it didn't work very well. Feeling sorry for him, she tucked her pencil into the notepad and crawled across the island counter under the pan-rack to lie out across the area, propping her chin up. "Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" she asked the top of his head.

"No," came the unenthused reply.

She took one hand away from her face and ruffled it through his hair instead, honestly not knowing how the little comment had turned into such a mess. Realizing that he still felt cold to the touch, she moved to get down off the counter and into the cluttered walkway without banging her head on a skillet.

Quatre didn't even stir, and she cast him a worried look. Poor soul. She really needed to be more careful around these guys, they were much more likely to take off running with a joke than the men she was used to. And she was obviously a little more able to take their comments than he was, granted she'd volunteered to count sheetrock boxes over an hour ago just to escape.

It was when they started putting together the crib that it really got to her.

For some reason she suddenly felt very sorry for whoever the future Mrs. Winner was going to be.

Taking a couple mugs from the cupboard, she filled them and dropped two teabags in and placed them in the microwave, much to her own sense of distaste. Setting it, she returned to his side, noting that he still hadn't moved. "Do you want to talk about it?" she soothed as she gently rubbed her hands up his back to his shoulders.

That got a reaction. "No!" He jumped like she'd scratched him, sliding quickly off the stool and backing away a couple paces until he ran into a stack of tile boxes, both hands up in defense.

She stared after him in surprise, unable to put together where that kind of reaction had come from. "…Alright." Instead she carefully turned around and stood staring at the microwave, content to watch water boil.

"Oh… I'm sorry," he sighed before she heard a mild slap and turned to watch him rub at his eyes a moment. "It just has not been my…."

"Week?" she supplied.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, more than a little concerned for the man's mental health. If he were a woman she'd chalk it up to PMS, but she didn't figure he'd appreciate it if she offered him one of her calcium supplements and a chocolate bar right now.

He moved to say something but stopped himself when he looked back at her. "Actually… I'm a little freaked out," he admitted.

The confession was so uncharacteristic that she tried very hard not to smile as she stared at him, waiting for an explanation. It wasn't until she jumped at the sound of the microwave beeping that she realized he might not be the only one a little out of it.

Giving the inanimate thing a sour look, she listened to him try not to laugh at her before throwing up her hands. "Alright, so we're both going to have to leave each other alone and get some sleep tonight," she grumbled.

His snickering cut off again. "Please don't say it like that."

"Like what?" she asked, opening the offensive appliance and removing their cups. Quatre shifted behind her as she added a lump of sugar to one and then scooted a box out of the way to open the refrigerator door to pull out her little carton of cream.

"I really think Rasid is worried about us."

Dorothy's hand went on steeping the teabag without her mind's intervention for a moment before she stopped completely and turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Excuse me?"

Quatre sat, unconventionally enough, on the countertop with his ankles crossed, his hands in his lap and face turned away from her, apparently lost in thought. "Maybe not necessarily 'us.' More like me. But considering it's me, that sort of includes the us," he babbled.

She stood giving him a funny look that he was obliviously ignoring. "And this was the fatherly lecture?" she guessed.

He cringed noticeably before looking back and giving her a nervous smile. "Uh, yeah."

And as much as she really wanted to be supportive, Dorothy cracked up laughing. "Please don't tell me that you got a birds and bees speech in my house."

He looked a little taken off guard by the laughter, "A what?"

"Oh, I'm going to have nightmares," she shook her head. "The birds and the bees speech. What do Colonists call it?"

Quatre only gave her a displaced look and she realized that he honestly did not understand the reference.

But as much as Dorothy Catalonia prided herself on never backing down from any topic of conversation, there was no way she was going to get into this with him… most of all with him. "Oh, never mind," she finally waved it off and turned back to her cream. "If it's any consolation, I'd be a little freaked out too."

"That is actually mildly helpful."

"Good." Turning, she handed him his cup. "I really did not mean to put you through that," she sincerely apologized.

"I know," he tried to smile. "But it's about enough to make me want to swear off girls entirely." She raised an eyebrow and he realized how he'd said that. "The speech, not the… oh," he gave up and stared into his cup again.

Dorothy managed to keep her laugh quiet as she turned back to put her cream away. "Well, I hope you'll make peace with this eventually. Little Winner heirs have to come from somewhere." She couldn't help the tease, but sobered immediately when she turned back to him.

Quatre stared at her over the rim of his half-raised cup, a look somewhere between betrayal and shock in his eyes. Had she already picked her cup up off the counter, she would have dropped it. She turned numb, feeling about two inches tall in front of him.

He got over his shock before she found a way to apologize. Setting his cup down again, he turned away and took a breath. "Dorothy," he paused, obviously looking for a way to say something. "There's a reason that none of us got your joke right away this morning," he began.

What did that have to do with anything?

Looking up again, she saw a deep uncertainty in him that only made her feel worse. But he swallowed and seemed to come to a decision. "Please sit down," he asked, nodding toward the stool next to his spot on the counter.

She unthinkingly moved forward, not remembering that her hand was still on her cup until she tried to pull it off the counter with her, hot liquid waking her back to her senses. Spinning back she let go of the mug and quickly grabbed a paper towel to wipe off her hand and then dropped it on top of the spilled mess.

"Are you all right?" he quickly asked, and she brushed it off.

"Of course," she walked back, pulling out the stool and sitting down as instructed, looking up at him. "It's not that hot."

He turned a softly knowing look to her and held out a hand until she grudgingly gave him hers for inspection. Quatre scooted a little closer to her and gently scrutinized the telltale red spot stretching from the knuckle of her thumb to her wrist.

Dorothy squeezed it in his, getting his attention back and showing him that it really didn't hurt much. "I'm fine," she clarified.

After the distraction she saw the same nervous uncertainty come back to him, but she didn't let him release her hand. He noticed it, looking back down at their hands in his lap. "This has actually come up a couple times, but I've never been able to talk to you about it," he began again. "But honestly, I'm not sure that you don't already know this."

His hands still felt cold around hers, but she couldn't be sure that it was the temperature outside that was keeping them that way.

"Dorothy, I was not naturally conceived. My sisters and I are all test-tube babies," he quietly confided.

Well, she hadn't actually expected that all of them were natural. Somehow, that just didn't seem to her like something he should be so afraid of talking about. The question of "so" came to mind, but she didn't dare say it, seeing something very wrong in him with his words.

"When I told you that Maguanac means 'family,' it was true. But the meaning behind that is that we were all born the same way."

She blinked. All of the Maguanacs were artificially incubated? That seemed like an odd thing to join a club for.

Quatre gave their hands a little sardonic smile as he stared down at them. "The idea of waiting to be surprised by the gender of your child is kind of obsolete when they're being cooked under glass."

Dorothy balked, "Cooked?"

He cringed, "Not a nice way to put that."

"No, it's not," she agreed.

He slowly turned his eyes to her, a question buried in them. "You've never heard that expression before, have you?"

That was supposed to be a common description? "No."

That seemed to throw his thoughts off course as he looked at her. "You… you probably don't really know the significance of this, do you?"

She didn't have a bloody clue. "I guess not," she returned with a confused look of her own.

And for a reason she could not figure out, he turned away with a smile trying very hard to work its way onto his face as he obviously struggled to come to terms with that. "I guess I've never thought of how to explain this to someone who isn't already biased."

"Biased?" Somewhere in her worldly collection of knowledge she was missing something. "Sweetheart, you're going to have to start at the beginning for me."

Quatre nodded. "I'm sure that you're aware that in the earliest days of colonization certain problems arose in the reproductive cycles of the Colonists, making it deadly for a woman to conceive and give birth."

She knew her history well enough, "Yes. The advent of the artificial womb."

"That's the proper way of saying that," he mildly added. "After a couple generations many of the causing factors such as radiation and pollutants were weeded out of colony life and the living conditions were comparable to here. After that, the birthing bans were lifted and most people never worried about such things. But there are still… a few exceptions."

"Your family," she guessed.

"My entire line," he corrected, looking over at her. "'The Winner family curse.' I'm guessing that you haven't been around long enough to hear the ugly things that get tossed around about us."

"A problem I can relate to," she mumbled. "But I don't understand why there's a bias against how you're born."

"Since when are biases logical?"

Dorothy nodded, "Good point."

He turned back to their hands, his thoughts lost in memory again. "I grew up hearing a few side comments—just ignorant words—about shallow, emotionless test-tube children. The bitterness that people had, the disdain for those children was enough on its own to rub off on me. And I proved them right," he dropped to a whisper.

Shallow? Emotionless? "What are you talking about?" she couldn't help but ask. "You're nothing like that."

He turned a bit of a smile to her, "Now. Maybe," he relented. "Not always. I told you, for years there was nothing that I cared about, myself included."

Dorothy turned back to their conversation from a couple nights ago, trying to fit this information into place with the rest. "You didn't want to tell me this," she mildly accused, coming up with the break in their conversation when he'd said he couldn't explain to her.

He closed his eyes, turning away again. "No."

"Why?"

"You don't even like the Colonies." He gave a humorless sniff, "Dorothy, you hate genetically altered grass. What can you possibly think of me?" His voice was subdued, brokenhearted as he sat with his head bowed, his eyes still closed.

Her words from months past came back to her, sitting on the grass in the neighborhood park somewhere in the outskirts of his home colony. And it hurt. "I think there's a small difference between you and grass," she stated, staring at him.

Quatre had to have heard the indignant, defensive note to her voice even though she didn't mean for it to come through. He snapped his head up to look at her, only causing her to turn away.

"I hope you don't believe I'm that petty."

"Oh, that's not what I meant." His free hand touched her cheek and turned her back to face him whether she liked it or not. "Honestly, it's not. But I've spent most of my life being considered nothing but a cocktail of chemicals that were shaken up just right." He specifically studied her eyes. "I don't know what that can mean to you."

Pain. That was what she saw so clearly in him. Pain. And fear. Especially with his last words. What could she say to him? She had no concept of what he was even talking about. She couldn't care less. But he did. He'd…. "You've really been hurt, haven't you?" she softly asked, worry running through her.

He pulled back from her again, taking his hand back from her face, and swallowing the question down. "I guess I have. It's one thing to know that you're always looked at like you have a disease or a disability, like people just expect you to be less than everyone else. But…."

He cut himself off, closing his eyes and obviously living through more than he wanted to in this conversation. Dorothy sat unmoving and not knowing what to do, wishing for once in her life that she had any concept of what to say.

"But I'm the thirtieth child. Thirtieth. Am I honestly supposed to believe that my parents wanted thirty children? When did they stop having babies and start raising crops?"

The bitter, angry tone of his voice truly scared her. This wasn't like him.

"I could not believe that there was any way that my father could possibly love thirty of us. I'm still not sure I can. If he needed a son he just kept mixing us together until he got one. And if I wasn't around, he'd just have to start over."

He finally paused to take a breath, his words choppy and hurt-filled. These weren't new feelings. This was pent up anger and frustration from a lifetime of feeling looked down upon.

"I've actually never been able to ask about my mother. I'm always afraid that I'm going to find out that she was dead before I was even born. Or worse, that she was dead before I was even conceived," he softly whispered. "I'm too afraid to know."

This wasn't only about being artificially conceived, this was about his parents once again. The idea that he'd never been loved. A child that honestly felt he was merely created to fill his role. A child that didn't feel his father, his one surviving parent, had loved him. He felt expendable. Replaceable. Unimportant. _"__I just felt like a puppet."_

Her heart stopped for a moment as she realized she had no idea how to refute him. Dorothy didn't know his parents or anything about them. If Quatre was honestly right, what could she do?

He took a shaky breath, raising his head to look up, possibly blinking back unshed tears that he didn't want her to see. And she couldn't take it anymore. If it was her own nature, or feminine instinct, she didn't care as she slid off the stool beside him and leaned into him, wrapping both arms around him as much as she could in that position.

Quatre apparently wasn't expecting that as she tried to hug him. But he hesitantly moved to place his arms around her shoulders as her head lay against his chest, still scared at how fast his heart was racing.

"I'm so sorry, Dorothy," he whispered into her hair. "All I've done is pour this out on you."

The return to his normal apologies and selfless attitude relieved her some as she slowly slipped away again to look at him. "That just means it's your turn," she gave him a little smile before taking a couple handfuls of his shirt and pulling at him to move off the counter.

He complied with an embarrassed expression and she wrapped herself into a real hug as soon as he regained his feet. "Thank you," he whispered, wrapping himself tightly around her.

He could squeeze the life out of her for all she cared. He could have anything he wanted from her; she'd give it gladly to help him through this. "Dearest, I have no idea what I can say to help you. You're so much better at that then I am," she confessed honestly.

Quatre gave a single chuckle at the words, bowing his head until his chin rested on her shoulder. "It's alright. Part of me was just scared that you'd… that it'd matter to you."

That she would react the way others had to him. Hugging him tightly to her, she shook her head as much as she could. "Darling, you could tell me you're half metal and I'm not sure I'd care."

That got another, slightly better, chuckle out of him and his face rose to press his cheek against hers. "Personally, I think you're pretty good at this when you want to be."

She smiled, hoping that was true. But one thing kept ringing in her head, and she couldn't explain what kept calling it up. "You're wrong about one thing though," she carefully started. "You knew your father, I didn't, but I don't think you're being fair about one thing."

He shifted, but she didn't let him go, didn't let him back out of her hold on him. "What?" he finally asked.

"You said you didn't know how he could possibly love thirty children. I don't think that's fair." Having his attention she moved back only enough to look at him. "Can you tell me that you don't have a brotherly love for each of those guys in there?" she made a quick nod back towards the rest of the house. "You of all people would tell me that you care about each of them, wouldn't you?"

He seemed a little confused, but nodded solemnly.

Narrowing her eyes a bit she scrutinized his. "Some you might know better than others. Some you might get along with easier than others. But they each have a piece of you. If you can care that much for forty grown men, why don't you believe that your father could easily love thirty different children?" He blinked at her, surprised, and she only gave him a little smile. "Thirty, adorable, little children that he held in his own arms," she clarified.

She watched him think that through, feeling somehow that he wanted to believe her. Dorothy had no idea why she was sticking up for a man that she'd never met. And one that she couldn't bring herself to hold a high opinion of considering what'd she'd seen his son go through in the past few days.

Pecking a kiss on his cheek, she hugged him again. "You had to have gained some of your qualities from him," she reasoned to them both. "I can't imagine him being heartless."

"No. No, he wasn't," Quatre admitted. "I guess neither of us were very good at knowing how to try."

Dorothy shook her head on his shoulder. "What is it between fathers and sons?" she mused. "Men have such a hard time with each other. I don't get it."

The joke worked for its intended purpose and she felt the little chuckle in him. "That's probably because you're not male."

"A fact I'm becoming more and more thankful for as the years go on," she stated, pulling away to give him her standard smirk.

He tried a tight smile, closing his eyes. "Would it sound really bad if I agreed to that?"

She let herself turn perfectly evil for a moment and nuzzled in against his cheek and jaw line. "Yes, very forward of you, Master Winner," she purred.

He sighed, "I knew that wouldn't last."

"What wouldn't?" She closed her eyes and moved to just below his ear as he tried to edge away.

"That nice, kindhearted side of you."

"Well, I can't use it all up at once. It's in very short supply for me," she teased. She realized that she had a very sadistic love affair for his nervous twitches and discomfort. But he had to know by now that if he was looking for a mushy, serious reaction he was talking to the wrong girl.

Besides, the dear soul was desperate to know someone's affections. Starved for love, so to speak. She wasn't the right girl to try her hand at satisfying that either. But she did have a unique position with him. She was here.

She held him genuinely again, getting him to stop trying to inch away from her. Gently, she brushed through the hair at the nape of his neck and she could feel him melt in a little closer to her. Dorothy couldn't help but love the way she could direct his responses.

The poor, humble man really did need a less malicious woman in his life for this. Here he was, hurt and pouring his heart out, and she was teasing him.

Well, she didn't know what else to do. And what she did know was that sometimes all a man needed was something to hold on to. She didn't mind in the least. If Quatre needed a reminder that someone cared, she would not ignore him.

It was the one reason she could understand why he always seemed to want her in his life. She prided herself on her responses being completely different from anyone else's.

She smiled when he leaned into her a little farther, pulling her tighter, and she returned it. She'd never know the thoughts or emotions that passed through him, but as long as he kept her here, he wasn't alone with them. And she had no intentions of going anywhere unless he moved her.

"Dorothy," he breathed.

"Yes?" she answered, her nose still tickling his jaw line.

"Thank you," he said again. "Really. You don't know how much you've helped."

_Apparently I haven't helped enough yet if you're still talking like that_, she mentally chuckled to herself, but her heart wasn't all that amused. It was still worried; the remembered fear was still too fresh.

"I just…" he trailed off as she brushed her cheek along his.

She fought down a smile as she felt the tiny prickle of stubble as she moved back to barely enough to look at him. He didn't seem interested in hearing her half-teasing words and as soon as she saw his closed eyes, she forgot it anyway.

She'd underestimated.

Her logical side tripped and fell flat on its face and her heart responded by skipping to double-time. She didn't move as he unconsciously leaned into her, following what had been her movements to bring them nose to nose… except he didn't stop.

It was only a tentative touch, as though he realized what he was doing only after the instant his lips found hers. She didn't care. She stayed right where she was and closed her eyes. But she also didn't respond to him. She didn't want to influence him in either direction.

By her heartbeat's count it was an eternity before he moved again and pressed them together. Visions of their last kiss picked the wrong time to try to choke her before she specifically threw them away and forced herself to relax into him, letting him lead.

He needed her. She knew he did. And she wanted to be here with all her heart.

I cannot replace a father or a mother. My emotions will never be pure enough for you. But I'm here. Take what you need from me.

She didn't know if he understood, or if he somehow heard her inner voice, but his kiss grew deeper. His tight, warm hold on her moved to constrictive as he pressed her against him. The timid caress changed to sweet… but hungry.

And for an instant it scared her. But just as fast as she felt it, she knew she was outmatched and again forced to surrender to him.

The feeling was not something she was used to, but she also felt a, not entirely pure, ache start within her at the idea of being at his mercy. Her foggy brain didn't care, and her heart could only compare it to one other kiss during her lifetime.

…Somewhere in a cold orbit around the war god's planet.

The same instant that she had been forcefully reminded that she was not toying with a child or a boy, but a man who had bested her on this field more than once.

Quatre Raberba Winner. Sweet, kind, thoughtful… passionate, forceful, possessive, Quatre.

Having cracked her open and turned her inside out he gently pulled away, relaxing his arms around her, and apparently not noticing that she was now the one a little desperate to hang on.

Either that or she wasn't the only sadistic one in this relationship.

"I'm sorry."

It was less than a whisper, but it did get her eyes open and her mind back on track. "For what?" she teased, swallowing down the feelings that he'd stirred in her. He wasn't looking at her, and he obviously wasn't going to be forthcoming with anything more than embarrassed silence from what she could tell. Dorothy broke a smile at the inexplicable duality of him before hugging him again and resting her cheek on his shoulder. "Please tell me you'll be alright."

"Of course I will," he shook it off.

"Good," she smirked, back to normal again. Tilting her face up she whispered in his ear. "Glad I could be of service."

She honestly could not help her giggle at the shiver that went down his back.

* * *

"A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point. That's basic spelling that every woman ought to know." – Mistinguette

Proofed by: Random Pixie  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	26. Chapter 26

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 26

"Good morning," Quatre happily greeted them as Auda and Ahmed allowed him to pass between them into the makeshift breakfast room. The two had drowsily greeted each other with grunts of acknowledgement as they set about making coffee. Now they both backpedaled through the doorway again to watch the younger man.

It seemed that Master Quatre was extra cheerful this morning. He was attired, as usual, in khaki slacks but the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up and the… collar unbuttoned?

The two Maguanac soldiers exchanged a silent look of curiosity and then backed a little farther into the room.

Quatre, oblivious to them, tapped his ever-present project folder along the front table to a little tune before tossing it down and stepping over to the coffee machine and pouring himself just a half a cup. Picking out a sugar and creamer packet, he made a flourish out of adding the stuff to his cup before stirring it in.

He turned back, his cup halfway to his lips before he noticed the two's curious stares. "What?" he blinked.

The two shrugged easily. "Just wondering what we got today," Ahmed covered.

"Oh!" He quickly walked back to his folder on the table, his cup forgotten in his hand. "Well, let's see," he mumbled, only half to himself.

Again the two exchanged glances at the jovial display. Master Quatre was usually a high-spirited person, but this was a little off.

"Second floor mainly. Ballroom patio doors should be easy if the store has them in like they'd said. Pretty normal, we're getting down to the end. Are you guys bored yet?" he teased, looking over at them, his smile undaunted by the still-early morning.

"No, no," they both put in.

"Well, I'm going to go through a test on the ballroom lights before I get more help than I need," he chuckled to himself and sipped at his cup. He seemed to notice something and set his cup down again as he frowned a moment before running his hands over his collar and buttoning his top button.

Both men silently sighed in relief from the doorway.

Oblivious to their reactions, Quatre picked up his cup and folder and walked quickly out of the room, flashing them another smile as he went.

When he was out of sight, Ahmed twitched his mustache back a forth a few times. "Someone's in a good mood," he noted.

They looked at each other suspiciously before they both consciously shook it off without a word. Turning, they also left the room, Auda yawning.

* * *

"Knock, knock. Anybody home?" came a displaced voice from the hallway as Davonte and Quatre hefted the elaborate marble chess table back across the floor to its proper corner of the finished game room.

"Here," Quatre answered without thinking.

He looked back to see a young man poke his head around the corner of the doorway, looking in at them. "Hello," he flashed a smile.

"Byron! Just who we need," Davonte mumbled. "Come hither."

The man blinked once but then walked in toward them. "Von, that's just not the right way to ask a man that."

Davonte moved from his place but then looked at him strangely. "Why?"

The other seemed to relent with a mild cringe. "No reason."

Quatre stood a little displaced between the two before the reference to "Byron" clicked in his mind. "Byron Solvana?" he asked as the man casually walked up to the table that had only made it halfway into place.

He turned, surprised looking green eyes flashing brightly in the tanned complexion. They were approximately the same height but Byron's build was significantly blockier, a fact emphasized by the very tight polo shirt he wore over his jeans. Brown hair was cut short and tipped just at the ends with lighter highlights.

"Yeah, sorry," he stated holding out a hand. "And I have the pleasure of addressing…?"

"Quatre Raberba Winner," he answered with a smile at the man's easy attitude and shook his hand.

"Oh, yeah! I guess I've missed you the last couple times through," he smirked.

He nodded, "If you're looking for Dorothy she's out on a supply run, but she should be back soon."

"Well, I personally have nothing better to do, so I'll wait," he shrugged. "Need help?" he asked, looking at the giant slab of rock in front of them.

"Please," Davonte nearly begged, and Quatre tried very hard not to chuckle at the man's plight.

"Never bring an artist to a moving party. Wouldn't want you to sprain a finger," the other joked before clapping the taller man on the shoulder and turning him back towards the doorway. "Go make something pretty, or something."

Davonte narrowed his eyes at him. "This whole experience has done nothing for my ego."

Byron laughed at him before grabbing hold of the vacated end. Quatre again bit back his chuckles and hefted his end in time with the other, moving stiffly towards the wall. Finally getting it into place, they set it down and both sucked in a much-needed breath of air. "What does the general need with a chess table anyway? She's already beaten everyone she knows."

"Practice," Davonte mumbled back to them from the other wall where he was collecting the sheeting and painter's tape still lying around.

Quatre looked back and forth a bit confused. "General?" he asked, looking over the playing field of rock at his new acquaintance.

Byron turned back to him as he leaned on the table, both hands palms down on the polished finish. "General," he confirmed back. "We had a number of nicknames around campus, Dorothy was always known as the General."

"Along with a few not so polite names," Davonte again piped in.

"Now, now, Mr. Winner is polite society or something, be nice." All three of them laughed at that and Quatre had to take a liking to the old friend. Just a slight night and day difference between him and Andrew.

"Oh, he's been around our precious little girl too long to still be considered 'society,'" Davonte finally responded when they'd quieted again.

Byron chuckled and nodded at that. Turning back he caught Quatre's eye again. "There's a whole house full of reasons that I should have known your name, but I'm confused how you knew mine?" he asked, standing up from his bent posture.

Quatre gave him a smile and then nodded appropriately to the far wall and the collection of fencing foils and practice blades mounted in racks. "I've heard more than one story about the legendary fencing team."

"Ah!" he smiled. "Well, don't believe anything good. We're nothing but troublemakers."

Quatre pretended to think on that for a minute before nodding, "It seems the stories I heard were true then."

The man turned and winked back at him, "Somehow I doubt she's told you the good ones." Walking across the room he ran a hand down the rack of practice foils. "Do you fence at all, Mr. Winner?"

Quatre leaned casually against the table they'd moved and watched him size up a couple of foils. "Quatre, please. Actually, I have no formal training," he replied.

Byron picked out one foil and ran a hand up it to the capped tip before looking back over his shoulder at him. "That didn't answer the question. Training is only for competitions."

Quatre scrutinized that statement for a moment as the other went on looking through the foils. "Then, I guess I could say I have some experience." Some was stretching it a bit. He was much more versed with two blades than with a single sword of any fashion.

"I imagine you'd have to around Dots," Byron mumbled, examining another foil.

He cringed inwardly at the mention, but tried not to let on. "We've tried one match," Quatre confessed as Davonte walked back to stand against the table with him.

Byron smiled back at them. "Please, be good to me and tell me she kicked your butt."

Quatre smiled, but it didn't really reach all the way. "I'll say she won," he responded.

"You did better than me then," he went on. "I limped away with bruises the first time. How about it Von, you up to face me yet?" he chucked and slipped to a salute stance from the other wall.

"Never touched the thing, never will," he raised both hands. "You're all far too scary for me."

Byron rolled his eyes, but then refocused on him. "Quatre?" he asked. "I can promise to be nicer to you than the general was."

The man obviously didn't know that with the capped foil he was holding he was completely right, but Quatre still felt himself try to place a protective hand over his left side.

"Oh, I love barbaric challenges," Davonte flourished as he moved to sit on the table.

Byron cast him a dumb look, "Would you stop that?"

The older man merely sniffed at him in response. And Quatre tried to hide his laugh behind a hand.

"Come on, somebody. I'm out of practice, it's been months. And I know better than to challenge Dorothy when she's here," he cringed to himself.

And for some reason he wouldn't name, Quatre couldn't help but think that it would be nice to see if he could defeat someone Dorothy held in such high esteem. He didn't know why but the feeling set his feet moving forward toward the wall and the rack of foils. Maybe it was just the impulse to test himself. Maybe he really wanted to give this man an opponent.

And maybe he just wanted to see if her past was as good as she remembered it.

"Alright!" Byron cheered and backed away for him to choose his weapon.

"Oh goody," Davonte stated as well, scooting back and resting his back against the wall as he sat on the table, crossing his legs at the ankles.

"I'm still going to warn you that I don't really know the rules," Quatre cautioned. He knew exactly enough to keep himself alive, as he did with most forms of defense. Rules of engagement were blurred to someone who had learned only enough to know to keep on top of an opponent. Disable and run was his usual philosophy. Technically he'd gotten far more hand to hand combat training since the war's end than he'd had before. Still, he'd give himself odds.

"Don't worry. I don't follow them," he replied, taking a stand in the middle of the floor with a smile.

_What did I get myself into?_ Quatre sighed to himself with a shake of his head as he picked out a foil.

But he had a feeling that this wasn't as innocent of a challenge as it might appear. Byron had a jovial attitude and personable response to others, but there was something that edged into the easy character. And no matter what, by now he would not forget that the man was former Romafeller. Looks were invented to be deceiving.

Or he could just be paranoid.

"Oh what fun." Quatre turned to the door to see Dorothy standing at the frame, her arms still full of sacks, but the glint to her eyes as she looked at them was her purest catty evil.

"General! Just in time," Byron greeted. He looked back and forth a second. "You're not going to call fouls are you?"

Dorothy raised an eyebrow, "I will only remind you that this is not a rugby match, Byron." Walking in, she slipped up just behind Quatre's shoulder as though being secretive. "Watch him, he doesn't believe in the rules if he can get away with it."

"So I've heard," he mumbled. Wincing, he asked, "Is that a polite way of saying I'm in over my head?"

"Not at all," she purred. Twirling, she brushed her hair past him as she walked over to Davonte's position on the table and set the sacks down. "Especially if he's still as bad at covering his left hip as he used to be."

"No helping," Byron complained.

"I'm sure I'll need it," Quatre soothed.

Dorothy's maniacal little giggle resounded as she slipped up to take a seat on the table beside Davonte, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't believe the humble act either, Byron. He's the type that actually apologizes after he humiliates you."

Quatre sighed, rolling his eyes at the statement. But his opponent only laughed, "And you, General? Don't we deserve a demonstration?"

"I'll take the winner," she purred.

And for once, Quatre found himself smirking at her attitude. "Well, thank you. But shouldn't we decide the match first?"

"Oh, cocky. Yeah, I'll like you," Byron refuted the little word pun.

Their audience chuckled and Quatre shook it off with a little apologetic smile for the uncharacteristic comment.

"Let's get this started, shall we? First to three touches wins. Gives us a little time to get used to each other," Byron winked. His eyes narrowed slightly as he turned serious and raised his blade in salute.

Quatre returned it before they dropped to starting positions.

The first move was swift and unprovoked. Byron advanced first, attacking instantly and Quatre barely managed to block the swing. _He's fast!_ he mentally noted, his awareness kicking into combat mode automatically. His analytical side skipped to the front as his opponent disengaged and struck again, forcing him backwards two—three—four steps.

Blocking a low blow to his side, he felt unsteady on his feet. He didn't have the strength in his legs in this position to use them as a counterweight to the obviously stronger man. And Byron saw it. Leaning farther he pressed in, edging closer, Quatre doing his best to keep his blade between them.

Without warning Byron released and twisted his foil only a couple inches up and with lightning precision scored the first touch against his bottom rib. The man turned on his heel and walked back to take a starting position again without so much as a smile of accomplishment.

Quatre scrutinized the move as he went back to his starting place as their audience clapped mildly for the score. Byron hadn't meant to use his strength against him; it was only a distraction to unbalance him so that he would not be able to react in time to block the next quick attack.

Flawlessly played.

The two dropped back to ready positions without a word, both concentrating on what was coming. Again Byron attacked first without hesitation. This time Quatre led him back, never letting him get in too close as he did last time. Again, the older man tried a lower lunge for his hip, but this time he could read it in his shoulder movements and physically dodged by stepping forward instead of back as he had been.

The foil was in mid-motion when Quatre's slipped past it with a glancing blow and met his tip to the man's abdomen.

Byron blinked in surprise at the unforeseen move as Dorothy and Davonte golf-clapped for them again. But again the other didn't waste any time on it as he turned away and both of them re-took their positions.

Dropping back to start, Quatre watched him carefully. The seasoned veteran before him would not slip again, and if he had awoken the man's sense of pride, the next round would be—

Byron attacked without mercy and Quatre made three blind blocks on pure instinct without even moving his feet as the man swung quick and sharp. The two stood staring at each other over crossed foils, his teeth gnashed together as he pushed back against the force of the older man, ready for the quick redirect.

It didn't come. This time it was purely a battle of strength, and Quatre was not physically up to the same challenge that Byron was. Possibilities flashed through his mind as he tried to analyze this type of attack. What did he hope to gain? If he gave in, Byron would still need to recover in order to gain a touch point.

Why wasn't he attacking? What was he proving? He'd already determined his opponent as an instigator, the first attacker, a type that he knew far too well. Had his touch enraged the other's ego to the point where he just wanted the satisfaction of physically overpowering him? He didn't look angry or….

Quatre snatched the first possibility that fit. Taking a quick step back he disengaged and then moved forward, advancing as he met the other's foil in two quick attacks. It was his third that he moved high on that missed his target completely as the man slipped aside and easily landed a touch to the center of his breastbone.

He let out his unsteady breath as he moved again to the starting spot. It was a stupid mistake. He'd figured out that Byron was waiting for him to make a move, to force an attack of his own instead of remaining on the defensive as he was used to.

The man had read him and had led him exactly as he wanted.

Quatre dropped to a starting position again, clearing out the feeling and focusing again. He shouldn't be this easily manipulated, but the man before him knew this battle better than he did, and he was cunning enough to read his rival quickly.

Well, he knew that game quite well too.

This time Byron paused, not immediately jumping to the attack, but he'd expected that. Holding his ground, Quatre waited. And sure enough, the eager fencer went on the offensive. Jab—step—thrust—step—swipe.

And it was over. Quatre had lazily blocked the first two attacks, retreating with each step that the other took forward, but on the third swipe, he purposefully missed Byron's foil and dodged his blow physically before lunging forward immediately after and scoring a point to his exposed left hip. Dorothy was right, if he looked for it, he could see tiny openings in that area when Byron attacked continuously.

The little claps from the other side of the room had turned a bit more enthusiastic as the two men bent to begin their last run. This was not going to be easy.

Byron went back to traditional strategies as he moved first taking two quick shots that Quatre was getting proficient at blocking, but instead of pressing farther, he stepped back. Measuring the previously unseen move, he held his ground waiting for the more offensive of the two to come back.

If Quatre could say anything for the man, it would be that Byron was not a patient person. Lunging forcefully, the blow was almost too much for him to block, but he backpedaled a step quickly enough to spare his ribs a potential bruise with the force behind that strike.

Having missed his mark Byron waited again, giving him the option of attacking, but Quatre waited. And was rewarded with the man coming in full force, blow to blow, driving him back from almost sheer force of will. The attacks were quick jabs, harsh and rhythmically timed so to move them purely at his lead.

Quatre caught one of his quick slashes and locked their foils to gain his own stance. It only lasted a second though before Byron backed off a step, again allowing Quatre the option to take the offensive. And again, he didn't.

The attack was fast and even harsher this time, but he was prepared and managed to sidestep a blow and crossed foils with him again. And as he predicted, the man made his move to step back to separate them and pause their effort.

But Quatre attacked. Throwing off the other man's foil with a spin of his own, he made a lunge for his right side as Byron was midway into his motion. It was risky but hopefully just enough to show the man up.

The capped tip met the black cloth of Byron's shirt just above his waist on his left side, barely nicking him as the force of the blow actually slipped past all together.

Byron let out a disheartened groan of a sigh at the defeat and hung his head just a second before giving a smart salute with his foil and shaking his head again. "Mr. Winner, I'd say you're much better than you let on to be."

Quatre gave him a displaced smile at the compliment, coming down from an adrenaline high that he hadn't felt in months. "Thank you. Beginner's luck is all."

Dorothy's laugh from the other side of the room brought him back to reality again as they found her sitting back into Davonte's side, his arm now draped around her. "Far too modest, as always," she cooed.

The gleam in her eyes usually tended to send a shiver down his spine, but this time he reveled in it. Though he tried to back it down, he felt that cocky overconfidence, that only she could inspire, rise up in him.

"Well, whatever you call it, good match," Byron smiled and moved his foil to shake his hand again.

Quatre returned it with a nod. "Yes. And I can easily see why you were a national champion," he added.

Byron's smile only grew wider. "Maybe, but you'll come to find out that those competitions are team sports. And you still have to face… her," he turned to look over to where Dorothy still sat contentedly on the table.

And Quatre's stomach twisted painfully as he tried not to go pale.

Dorothy.

Had he not gotten the reference to her taking on the winner? Or had he simply assumed that that wouldn't be him? What was he thinking? If he'd have realized the impact of this he would have thrown the last battle if it would mean that he wouldn't have to….

If he didn't have to face her again.

How could he possibly? It had been two years since that duel and still he knew that it was far too fresh for him to ignore, and he was sure that it would be for her too—

"A rematch then," she stated easily, slipping off the table and rising to her feet. "However, I will say that I am very out of practice, as I'm sure you'll find."

Stepping up, Byron laid out his foil in both open palms as though presenting it to royalty. "You must be joking," he scoffed just the same.

Dorothy took it from him as she shook her head. "It's been years, Byron. You could even beat me by now," she smirked.

Apparently the other man wasn't prepared to hear that… and neither was Quatre. Years? Had she forsaken her weapon after their last duel? She really hadn't been here. She would not have had an opponent probably, but…. Was it more than that?

"What have you been doing with yourself?" Byron mumbled, obviously a little at a loss with the confession.

"Paperwork," Dorothy turned away with a shrug and stepped out into the middle of their area, apparently ready.

Quatre forced himself to move to stand in front of her as Byron quickly slipped through them to jog over beside the table that Davonte was still on. Could he really do this? She didn't seem to have any reservations, so he shouldn't worry, right?

But….

Apparently thinking of something, Dorothy moved her foil to her left hand and walked back to the foil rack, looking for something.

_Do you actually want this?_ he mentally asked her back as he watched her. She was clad in a, rather snug, pair of black pants and a blue button down shirt left half open to reveal the black, lacy shirt she had on underneath. A casually classy wardrobe considering she knew she would be out of the chateau this morning for supplies. But whatever the outfit, he was sure that she could move well enough in it to take him on.

She tucked her foil against the wall a moment as she apparently found a ponytail holder for her hair and quickly gathered her locks into its hold in the middle of her back.

If she showed no reservations about this, then neither would he, Quatre decided. After all, this was a friendly match. Just for fun. They were both perfectly safe with the capped foils and there was no dying battleship surrounding them.

…Perhaps it was time that they got over this particular memory.

"Oh finally!" came a huffed voice from the doorway. Rounding he found Abdul dropping to put his hands on his knees and panting lightly. "We need an intercom around here," he grumbled. "Delivery for the doors needs your signature, Mistress," he pointed back towards the West end.

"Ah, well I suppose I'd better give them one," she decided. Replacing her foil back in the rack on the wall she pulled the holder back out of her hair in a cascade of pale blond. "I'll have to offer you a rain check, Master Winner," she teased as she specifically brushed close past him on her way out the door.

He could only smile as her hair once again caressed around his side just a second before she met Abdul at the door.

"Be a dear and take the stuff back to the ballroom, would you?" she purred, removing his fez and mussing up his hair before replacing it, a little crooked, and left for the kitchen entrance.

Quatre's sigh of relief was silent, but heartfelt.

* * *

Dorothy gritted her teeth, her jaw clenched as her legs began to ache with the extended battle. She lunged again, only to have her invisible opponent squirm away from her thrust. Backpedaling quickly she blocked the recovering stab to her left side, meeting shadow blade to the hilt of her foil.

Her moves were calculated and she could almost see the imaginary foe who matched her every move and attacked without mercy or tiring. She moved swiftly, her feet easily keeping her balance, her left hand moving as a counterweight to her motions. Her blows were pointed and quick, her reflexes honed.

But no amount of shadow boxing would make up for her displeased thoughts grating at her nerves.

Her aim was continually displaced and she was leaving herself far too open to rebound attacks. She was focused, dedicated, and still unable to strike a point to the breastbone. The foil in her hand felt weighted and unnatural.

Dorothy took a frustrated swipe at her imaginary enemy and pretended to cut his head off.

She stood, the worthless weapon at her side as she sighed, angry with herself. Rubbing a sweatshirt sleeve over her forehead she removed the thin layer of sweat that had formed there as she sucked in air.

_Treize, you must be ashamed of me,_ she mentally quipped with herself.

There was a quiet chime of bells from the grandfather clock at the base of the stairs, telling her it was probably three in the morning by now. But still she stood alone in the dark of the game room, one of the practice foils from the newly re-hung wall racks in her hand.

She'd woken up more than an hour ago for nothing that she could tell. Her brain had gone on from there, skipping from thought to thought too fast for her to control. And so she'd done something that she literally hadn't in years.

She'd picked up a fencing foil.

Dorothy Catalonia, co-captain of the St. George Military Academy national championship fencing team, had not put a hand to a foil, rapier, or sword in two years.

She couldn't face her beloved weapon again.

She'd left the assortment of actual blades exactly where they were on the wall in their case. Choosing instead only the pliable and capped practice foil, even if she was only fencing thin air.

This was stupid. She had a house full of guests, of sorts, and she was wasting her sleep on fighting old imaginary enemies. And getting angry with herself when she realized just how far her skills had fallen off.

It was a good thing then that her rival had left early this afternoon to return home for work.

The thought turned her stomach, but focused her eyes. Through the moonlight that shone from the window, she found the rack on the wall, smaller and more elaborate than the one that held the practice foils.

She turned away from the sight again and instead put her foil back in its place with the others. Dorothy moved to leave the room, putting her back to her thoughts and her disgust with herself.

But there was something out in the dark hallway that stopped her just short of the doorframe and made her emotions cringe. She hadn't come down to this room in the middle of the night since before her Grandfather's death. It had been common for her before that. She wasn't one to take a restless night lying down, and a quick session would typically ease her thoughts and wear her out enough to fall asleep when she returned to bed again.

Tonight though, the dark shadows that lengthened through the halls and rooms crowded in on her. They accused her of losing her skills. Losing something she had once held such pride in.

Losing the vast part of herself that these walls had constructed.

The re-introduction of her teammates in these past few months had made her think of picking it up once again. But as she watched Quatre and Byron this morning she was drawn back to the emotion and egotism of it. It wasn't a fun little duel, and she'd known it as soon as she'd walked in on the scene.

Byron was a man of pride, just as they all were. She was sure that it was his friendly suggestion that had drawn Quatre out for the match, but it wasn't her older friend's only intention.

Quatre had been tested. And had been found less wanting than Byron apparently expected.

Dorothy had, at first instinct, wanted to stop the two. But if she had, she would have only cast Quatre into a lesser light than if he had refused on his own. Even in losing, he would have gained the opinion of being up for the challenge.

But he had fought brilliantly. And part of her knew that he had understood the challenge as more than a simple game. Quatre was getting to be well versed in the mindset of the Foundation and he was never one to underestimate an opponent.

No, he had been masterful. That passionate edge to him coming alight.

His motions were a bit clumsy, unpracticed as he was in this particular sport, but he'd read his enemy intimately and had learned quickly on his feet. Marks that she had always given him credit for since their own duel.

She'd had no idea if she could have actually faced him through crossed foils again. She was sure that he had reservations about hurting her with the memories just as she did. But it was those memories that she had wanted to overwrite if she was strong enough. But she didn't know if she would have been.

It was truly what made him a beautiful rival.

Turning back she looked again at the rack of actual blades on the wall, five total. She knew each one by heart, could describe them in loving detail, could measure out their weights from memory.

Setting her shoulders she moved back through the room, her feet still bare and the shorts she wore covering next to nothing of her legs. The activity had kept her warm, but now she was starting to feel the cold seep in. Stopping in front of the display, she slowly reached for the far left blade, her favorite.

Pulling it from the case she felt like she took it straight from the hold of the Lady of the Lake. The colors were skewed by the night's lighting, but she could remember the coloring of the gilded hilt that moved in an elaborate swirl to cover her hand and melded around the grip in a spiral that reached up to form the exact placement of her fingers.

The blade was narrow, but coarse through the middle, adding strength without the weight. Double edged, it was twice as dangerous for someone who had an experienced back-sweep, exactly as she preferred. Twisting it in the light she could just make out the etched scrollwork that reached down the metal all the way to the tip.

Treize had called it merely an aesthetic piece when she had picked it out from the local shop and brought it back to hang on the wall next to the others that were former favorites of…. _Dead men,_ she finished.

Looking back at the remaining four blades, she easily identified their "owners." The central blade belonged to the best of them, his skills easy and natural. Her first and greatest instructor. Reaching tentatively she touched her fingertips to the cold metal of the sword, remembering the few drops of her own blood that it had taken under that man's command.

Dorothy backed away quickly from the display again but stopped in line with it. Raising her rapier in a snapping motion, she saluted as she would to an opponent and turned easily to an en garde position, pointing her blade directly at the central sword.

"You always taught me to keep my enemies closer than my allies," she narrowed her eyes as her blade caught the spotty light.

She made a quick, unprompted thrust into the air before coming back to her position.

"But you failed to teach me what to do when someone crosses the line."

Again she thrust, the point of the weapon perfectly straight and accurate.

"You failed me," she dropped to a whisper.

This time she did not strike, but turned and gave another salute. She dropped her arm and the blade down to her side and raised her free hand to her hip, poised in front of the case.

"Dearest Treize. Dying was a worthless way of trying to teach me a lesson."

Dorothy walked back to the case, the ends of her hair tickling the back of her exposed legs as it swayed from its ponytail behind her. Reaching up she grabbed the center sword and hefted it from the wall, replacing the position with her own rapier.

"Those who live will have the precedence of my affections," she stated to the sword she held up in her left hand. She moved the sword back to the case, at the end position where hers had been.

In the light she held her right hand up in front of her. It was impossible to see it now, but she knew exactly where the pale little line of an old scar sat at the base of her thumb, just above her wrist. It had been much more prominent when the skin around it was reddened from the near-burn last evening.

It marred her in the place where Quatre had somehow seen fit to peck a kiss on her hand, hoping that she truly was unharmed from the spilled tea, before he had left her and turned in that evening.

Dropping her hand again she spared the sword only a departing glance as she strode from the room and sauntered her way down through the hall towards the stairs.

_If you weren't strong enough to live through the war, I will leave myself to those who were._

* * *

"The guy's good, but I don't get it," Byron moved back to his starting position, foil in hand as he readied once more.

"You shouldn't have tested him like that," Andrew mildly chided as he set for the next run. Immediately he lashed out, attacking in three quick stabs before twisting Byron's foil out of the way enough to hit his side. Turning around Andrew stepped back to the starting spot again.

And Byron rubbed a little at the offended spot. He had a couple of those by now. "Come on. You would've if you had the chance too." Set again, he took the offensive this time and swung out—missing completely on his first thrust and ended up taking a shot to his breastbone.

"You're too impatient," Andrew noted as he reset once more. "And, maybe, but you ran the risk of offending her."

"As if that ever stopped either of us before," Byron accused.

The taller man's dark eyes flashed before he struck.

Byron backpedaled enough to hold his own under the precise attacks of his friend, but he couldn't gain an advantage until Andrew let off to regain his force. He lunged in for a point but was still knocked away, the rebounding strike meeting his bottom right rib. He mentally cursed himself for falling for that and moved back with the other to their spots.

"Dorothy can take care of herself," Andrew finished the argument.

Byron didn't raise his foil right away this time. "But you've got to think it's odd. I mean, he's just… not the type," he finished as he readied himself for the next run. Taking the advantage he attacked, forcing the other back and locking his foil before letting off and cutting back just enough to clip the other's side.

"What type?" Andrew asked.

"Dorothy's type," he shrugged. It cost him as he should have been ready before Andrew came down on him full force. Two blows and he cut under his foil, lunging the pliable thing into his chest hard enough to leave a bruise before returning as always.

Byron rubbed at the mark behind the other's back. He'd asked for it after all. He knew better by now than to ever take on Andrew or Dorothy when they were in pissy moods. The only thing worse was watching the two of them fighting while arguing at each other.

It was down right vicious.

Apparently there was no response coming to his accusation though. Instead Byron stood exactly where he was as he nursed the tender spot. "There's something there that we're not seeing. No pacifist corporate president has that kind of reaction time… or wants a girl like that," he finished in a very quiet mutter.

Up until this point Andrew had been more annoyed with the story than interested. But he had piqued the man's curiosity with that, he was sure. "What do you mean?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I may have played nice, but I didn't intend to lose at the end," he shrugged.

Andrew turned, "You lost?"

Byron sighed and hung his head. "You're not listening to me, are you? Yes, I lost, three to two."

Andrew turned away, losing himself in thought a moment.

Byron waited, but his patience ran out with his friend. "But even with that I don't get the appeal. Maybe she's just really lost it for the multi-billion dollar pretty-boy type." He wondered over that a second. "You don't think she needs the money, do you? I mean, she should be fine, right?"

Andrew gave him dumb look for it. "I know that she's financially sound," he reassured.

Byron finally moved back to their starting spot. "I'm sure he's a nice guy. Too nice, actually. At least for Dorothy," he added, confused with his own words. "If she's this involved then there's something else going on."

"Has it ever occurred to you that she told us the truth and that he's simply a friend?" he admonished.

"Has it ever occurred to you that she's not usually the honest one between us?" Byron refuted. "You know her. She doesn't waste her time on people she doesn't gain anything from. 'Friends' or otherwise."

"So what if there is something?" Andrew dismissed it again, positioning for the next run.

"Dang it Drew, stop it!" he yelled, fed up with the play at unconcerned _ex_-friend. He'd been around the guy far too long not to notice the smoke coming out of his ears at being replaced by… well, by a seemingly very mild-mannered paper-pusher… with fantastic reflexes.

Andrew stood taken aback by the temper tantrum. "For once she's sticking to something safe and not throwing herself into the fire. And although it confuses the hell out of us, what do you expect me to do about it?"

Byron sighed and relented with a nod.

* * *

"Do not try to fight a lion if you are not one yourself." - African Proverb

"Remember men, we're fighting for this woman's honor; which is probably more than she ever did." - Groucho Marx (joke, joke! :)

AN: The scene with Dorothy is something that I have no idea where it came from, but I love it. It's what started this whole chapter off actually. I always found it very odd and out of character when authors have Dorothy come back onto the scene, foil still in hand, and especially if she immediately challenges Quatre with it. Such a painful memory of her own defeat and mild breakdown, regardless of what, if anything, transpired between them? I guess I don't see it.

Edited by: Spiked Jin


	27. Chapter 27

"Revelations"  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 27

"I almost hate to throw out the little crib mobile they made. It's really quite cute. And if you look close, there are these poorly drawn little subliminal Sandrocks painted on the back of each animal."

Quatre groaned in misery at the image of the 'nursery' that the guys had left behind at Dorothy's. They still weren't finished with this running gag and it was only getting worse to defend against.

"Although I'm not sure how thrilled I'd be about my girl noticing that," she mumbled.

He was about to make the comment that she would be a rather hypocritical mother if she refused to allow her daughters to learn as many tactics as her sons, but was interrupted as his desk phone buzzed for attention. "Please just burn the thing," he half-pleaded as he swiveled back to see the line waiting for his answer. "Dorothy, I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"Of course, back to work," she hummed.

He smiled into his phone, "You're sure you're not going to be lonely without us?"

"Oh, of course I will," she cooed. "I'll be so insecure without a house full of men."

He rolled his eyes as his phone buzzed again. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry I asked. Goodbye, Dorothy."

"Goodnight."

He chuckled at her as he closed his satellite phone and answered his office line. "Quatre Winner."

"Mr. Winner, we're ready when you are," came his Sales Vice President's voice.

"On my way," he replied getting to his feet and gathering the data pad and the note sheet he had on their monthly meetings. One more boring conference to go, he sighed to himself. Flipping a pen up he caught it again and hung up the phone, moving out of his office.

He passed Mrs. Shanelle in the front area with the trainee, Miss Emalia, the new filing clerk for the end of the year processing and accounting. He gave them a casual hello on his way out. The group was well aware of this collection of meetings; he'd only rescheduled them three times during his trips.

No one had cared in the least.

"Oh, Mr. Winner?"

He turned back to Mrs. Shanelle, who gave him a crinkled little smile from beside the wall of her office. "Receiving wants to know again this year if they can hang mistletoe garland over their door."

The other two receptionists broke into chuckles with them, and he shook his head. "Because the cute delivery drivers come on Wednesdays and Thursdays, right?" he tossed a glance around to the arrangement of women in the office.

A collection that all chose the same time to cough and clear their throats and turn back to work with quiet giggles instead.

He gave them a sigh, "I just wish I didn't know these things."

Mrs. Shanelle didn't even bother to contain her laugh. She was a grandmother this year and apparently shame slowly died with age. "Shall I give the standard answer then?"

"Please," he gave her a little bow for her help and turned towards the door again. "I refuse to re-write the trucking contracts too."

Leaving their suite he walked down the floor towards the far end and the large conference rooms set up for their meeting. It wasn't until he walked past the little Christmas tree lit up and twirling slowly around in the window to one of the CEO's offices that he remembered what he'd forgotten again this afternoon.

He'd originally called Dorothy to ask her to come for the company office party with him. He'd only tried three times now, and each time he'd been sidetracked. That wasn't unusual around her, but it was getting to be annoying.

He moved his pen up to take its cap off with his teeth as he sidestepped a couple people in the hallway, balancing the data pad to write a note on his hand. As much technology as he was surrounded by and he still had to rely on marking on his own skin to remember something.

He'd just send her a message tonight when he got home. She'd probably take it the wrong way and tease him for a half an hour about it anyway. But, truthfully, she had worked through half of the main projects that the company had accomplished this year. She deserved to be invited, and he didn't pretend to be ashamed of escorting her, especially when a number of his VPs and CEOs had met her at some point or other.

If the image hadn't been imprinted on his mind, he was sure he wouldn't have even noticed the snippet of conversation he overheard. But as it was he slowed his pace just a little as he passed around the backside of the corner area that served as their break room.

"…hair down to her knees and legs that could walk all over me any time they wanted."

"What was she doing here?"

"Rich little thing, invested major bucks in something. I'm surprised she doesn't have her own parking spot."

"And you're trying to tell me that this mythical blond has fallen in with the kid?"

That was enough to stop him as Quatre stood on the opposite side of the divider screens that served as walls here, nothing but glass windows stretching down the less used hallway that turned into the conference rooms at the end. Apparently none of the speakers had noticed him walk past the open doorway at the opposite end of the makeshift room.

He took the cap back out of his mouth and quietly put it back on his pen as he studied the comment.

There was a laughing curse from the first man to speak. "She's probably only two or three years older than him. But legal," he suggested heavily as the other two laughed.

"On which colony?"

Quatre shook his head and forcefully told himself he was not going to believe that he knew what they were talking about, and that he didn't care. Moving again he only made it one more pace before the words slammed into him.

"The kid is not old Winner by a long ways."

"Oh, I don't know. Quaterine was usually considered a hot blond in her day too."

"You have been here too long!" they laughed.

They were right. Most of the people that could remember his mother were in upper management by now due to their years.

But the remark was a sharp slap in the face to him. And if they meant… Dorothy.

"If this, obvious figment of your overworked little imagination, was real, what the hell is she doing with the boss? You just said she was loaded. Why else are these girls all giggly over him?"

"Wasting their time. The guy's gay. How can you miss it?"

"I don't know what she's after with him."

"Oh, stop," one of them tried to lisp.

The group laughed and Quatre stood motionless, staring at the fuzzy gray material covered divider that separated them.

"You guys are sick. I'm getting out of here," one led as the group broke to move away.

And Quatre squared his shoulders, spinning and stalking back towards the corner of the hall, intent on having three new positions come open in his management… at the least.

"Oh, excuse me," his Vice President greeted him as Quatre almost ran the man over as he came around the corner just before him. "Sorry, I had to run back to my office for a moment. Shall we?" he asked waving back the other way towards the conference room.

Quatre bit his tongue. The man in front of him hadn't heard the conversation, and hadn't been involved. Getting angry with this person because of someone else was beneath him and counter productive.

Instead he nodded and waved the man on. "After you," he stated instead, pushing down vengeful side in him. It would only mean humiliating himself if he confronted these people. Instead he stepped just a couple paces past the corner as his VP moved on. He was in time to note the three individuals who left the break room and continued on down the other hall.

Knowing your enemy was half the battle. And he had a vast advantage.

Turning back he walked down the hall again and into his meeting.

* * *

Mrs. Shanelle looked up from the mess of a pile of file folders on the floor behind her desk as Mr. Winner walked past them towards his office, giving them a standard greeting. She squinted at the clock on her desk, "My, that was fast."

"Oh, Mrs. Shanelle," Quatre backed into view again. "I changed my mind. If receiving wants mistletoe, let them. But tell them I'll be the first one down," he cast them a quick smile before continuing on.

She blinked at the vacated doorway strangely before looking down to exchange a look with Emalia, who sat on the floor half buried under the folders they were clearing out. The girl looked up at her with a perfectly evil little grin coming up.

Once more Quatre backed up to her door again, obviously relenting. "Don't tell them that," he corrected. "Just tell them that I do not want a phone call from the shipping companies."

"Yes, Sir," she quietly replied as he moved off again and she heard the door to his office close at the end of the hall.

It only took a couple seconds before the other girls peeked into her office. "Really?" one asked.

"Can we hang some in our office?" Emalia suggested with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Mrs. Shanelle managed to whack all three of them with a folder before she shooed them back to work.

* * *

The mirrors in the bathroom were steamed over; the two little candles set on the vanity were softly casting a buttered light over the tuscan tiles of the room. The humid air was filled with the scent of vanilla. And a lightly hummed Christmas carol was coming from the oversized bathtub in the corner as the mound of bubbles covered half of Dorothy's frame. Her hair was wrapped up in a messy bun and clamped into place on top of her head. One foot was raised from the water to brace up the leg that was lightly slathered in peach scented shaving cream.

She enjoyed having the guys around, she really did. But a woman needed a little uninterrupted girly time now and then, and keeping that many men in the house wasn't the best atmosphere for this sort of thing.

And she was really tired of shaving her legs in the shower by now.

She was into her second verse of "Jiggle Bell Rock" with two stripes taken out of the shaving cream when her humming was rudely interrupted by the chirp of her satellite phone.

Dorothy paused her movements before slowly looking over to give her discarded pile of clothes a dirty look. Her phone's chirp came again and she groaned and viciously threw her razor onto the ledge beside her before quickly rinsing the foam from her leg and getting out of the water, snagging the towel from the warmer beside her.

She quickly crossed back to the vanity by the door and dug through her clothes to find the phone in her pants pocket. Taking a wrong step her still wet feet slipped, almost spilling her to the title floor before she could catch herself.

"Someone had better be dying," she grumbled as she finally pulled the phone out and flipped it open on its last ring. "Catalonia."

"Hello, Dorothy. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Quatre," she recognized, unconsciously raising the towel she was holding around her up a little farther. Which of course only raised the bottom of it too. Dorothy caught her own actions and rolled her eyes at herself for the stupid reaction considering there was no way he could see her. "No, I haven't," she glanced back at the bathtub, "turned in yet."

"Oh, good. I apologize for calling so late, but I forgot something earlier, and wanted the chance to ask you."

Something in that sounded a little rehearsed to her, but she shrugged it off. "Of course dear, what would you like?"

"I'd like to escort you to our company office party next weekend, if you would be available, Lady Catalonia."

She smiled to herself at the 'formal' invitation, but chuckled at the idea. "My dear, you're Muslim, why are you holding a Christmas party?"

"It's not a Christmas party. It's a company get together."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "That's conveniently two weeks before Christmas?"

"And conveniently seven weeks before the end of our fiscal year," he replied. "Which is a nice time to figure out some added 'expenses.'"

"Ah," she cooed. "Creative tax dodging. Master Winner, you certainly know how to sweet talk a girl," she teased.

"Only you, Dorothy," he sighed. "Will you come?"

Shrugging to herself she decided it was cold out here and walked back to her bath. "Very well, Master Winner. I will accompany you. Although I'm a little confused as to why you're bothering to take me. I'm sure there has to be another vivacious blond that you know somewhere in that building of yours," she chuckled merrily to herself.

The pause was noticeable, but she expected it. "You've already met a number of my co-workers, and you have a place in the largest projects we've taken on," he listed, ignoring the other side of that tease. "And… I'd like the honor of your presence."

Dorothy giggled at the statement thinking it sounded funny from him. Unwrapping her towel she tossed it back on the warmer rack and shrugged to herself, slipping quietly back into the warm water. She shooed some of the bubbles out of the way with her free hand and settled back, holding in the contented sigh.

Poor Quatre would nose bleed if he figured out where she was.

"Well then, I suppose the honor should be mine to be escorted by the company president to his Christmas party," she specifically added. "What do I wear?"

"It's casual, but typically nice," he tried.

Closing her eyes she smiled to herself. "That told me absolutely nothing useful. What are you wearing?"

"A suit, I suppose."

She opened her eyes only long enough to roll them and shake her head. "Quatre, dearest, honestly, what would you do without me?" she sighed. "You just said it was casual. Why are you wearing a suit?"

"Well… technically I'm hosting, right?"

"No, no, no," she refuted. "This is your un-formal company exchange. It's the one time a year that you get to show yourself to your employees as their, very approachable, friendly, employer. You need to mingle with your underlings. Make them feel you can relate and all that."

"…Do they usually have a problem seeing me as that?" he asked, apparently a bit confused.

"How many of them call you by your first name?" she pointedly asked.

"Six or seven."

She shook her head, "How many of them, respectably, call you by your first name?"

"One or two," he relented a little bitterly.

"Then no, they don't see you as that," she proved her point to herself at least. "I'm guessing most men end up with slacks, dress shirts, cheesy ties that they'd never wear any other time?"

"…There's usually an ugly tie contest, yes," he admitted.

"Sweetheart, why don't you let me handle this," she smirked, her eyes opening with an idea.

"Handle what?" he asked, worry ebbing into his voice even over the phone line.

"Attire, of course. I'm rather good at these things by now."

The pause was lengthy but she held back chuckling at it. "Dorothy… I'm not sure I even trust you that far."

"Quatre," she vocally gave him a pout. "Have I ever led you astray with something like this?"

"Crayfish, remember?" he immediately refuted her.

Dorothy groaned, "Just trust me. And if you don't like it, then wear the suit. What do you have to lose?"

He gave her a resigned sigh, "There is a reason you're a negotiator, isn't there?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Alright."

"What's your shirt size?"

"Sixteen and a half," he grudgingly admitted.

"Well then. You just relax and leave these things to me," she purred.

"I'm counting on that actually," was the odd reply.

* * *

She was driving him insane. Not that that was unusual, but it was particularly aggravating this time. Especially considering it really wasn't Dorothy's fault. It was his own thoughts that nagged at him. Thoughts that he hadn't found a way to tell to her.

He'd come home Friday night from work to find her already settled into the sitting room, sleepily waiting up. Quatre had nearly broken down and tried talking to her then and there, but she had stood and given him a hug and teased him about his 'Christmas' party again and he'd let it go.

It hadn't mattered as much anymore.

He realized that he was being childishly hurt by idle rumors and rude comments, but it wasn't the first time he'd heard… things. But this wasn't as mild, and they had dared to bring in one of his friends in their imaginings, and he couldn't just make himself let it go.

Dorothy would brush it off. He knew she would laugh off the whole situation if he told her about it. Quatre figured that was part of the reason he didn't.

That and he knew she would blame half of it on him wearing too much pink again.

But she melded easily into helping with the set up for the Saturday evening party, hopping at the chance to decorate that afternoon with them. Even half tangled in strings of white lights or patriotic tablecloths, there was nothing like having her there. She'd teased him, picked on his receptionists, carried on more than one hushed conversation with Miss Emalia, which he was honestly afraid to know the purpose of, and had managed to rearrange the entire setup of the room by four o'clock.

The woman knew her crafts… all of them.

Including what she considered 'costuming.' At least he hoped she did as she pulled him into her guestroom and brought out a sack-covered hanger and handed it to him. "I'm assuming you own a nice pair of black slacks?" she looked expectantly at him to take the offered garment.

"Yes," he admitted with a mild cringe towards the innocent looking hanger.

"Good," she dismissed it, forcing the thing into his chest and backing him out the door with it at the same time. "Get dressed and come get me," she directed, closing the door on him.

Quatre hung his head for a moment outside her door and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. But raising his chin purposefully he walked down the hall to his bedroom and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

He raised the sack off of the shirt and blinked at it for a second. Underneath was a rather average styled dress shirt, button down, collared, classic lines… but red. Not just red, satin red. The shine of the material wasn't subtle like silk would be, and one touch and he was sure that satin was the right term for it.

How did she expect him to wear this?

Quatre shook his head and figured he owed it to her to at least humor her. Hanging the shirt on his closet door he found a pair of slacks and changed quickly. Unwrapping the shirt from the hanger he did have to reason that Dorothy put some effort into this. The shirt was heavily made, but without a clothing tag. She must have actually found the material and had it made from scratch.

That seemed like overkill for an office party but obviously she knew how to have it done, and in less than a week. Resourceful as ever.

Swallowing down his distaste at feeling like a Christmas bulb, he slipped the shirt on, almost praying that it wouldn't fit. His next surprise was when he attempted to button it, finding that it had no collar button, at all.

Quatre couldn't help but break a chuckle at her brazen nerve. Dorothy had found her way to ensure that he wouldn't be able to annoy her with that top button tonight. Not only that, but as he continued to button it, he was sure that she'd specifically lowered the first one a little more than customary.

Fantastic. Now all he needed was a giant gold chain and he could look like half of his salesmen.

Tucking it in he did notice that it hung a little short on him. He hadn't thought to tell her he typically wore long fits when she'd asked for his size. Well, that might be a nice excuse…

Turning he found his image in his dresser mirror and actually did figure that he didn't look that bad. Although, if Dorothy had some jolly green elf knock-off of a dress he was going to uninvited her.

He fiddled with the way the collar laid, but it was pressed meticulously to slack open at the neck. He was just going to feel naked all night.

Giving up he added a belt and a pair of dress shoes and ignored his own image in the mirror again as he left his room. Knocking on her door he got an acknowledgement to come in and sucked in a deep breath before opening it and letting himself in.

"Um… Dorothy?"

"What do you think?" she called from the open door to her bathroom.

"I think I feel like a Christmas ornament," he mumbled, stepping up to her dresser mirror and fidgeting again.

"Not unless I would have gone with sequins," she called.

He sighed, "And you did the collar button on purpose, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she admitted.

Well, she was honest. "I really don't know about this," he halfheartedly gave his reflection a frown. He did not need anything else to make him self-conscious tonight.

"What's not to know?" she called again.

"What, in everything we've been through together, makes you believe that I would wear something like this?" he asked, half turning to watch the empty doorway she was behind.

His only answer was a definitely evil giggle.

Again he only turned back to the mirror. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"You have to," Dorothy stated, her voice clear this time. Turning, he found that she'd stepped out of the bathroom and was standing as though for inspection. "The point is to match," she finished.

And if it wasn't for the numb shock that froze him instantly his jaw would have been on the floor. Dorothy stood in a dress of the same red satin that covered from just past her shoulders all the way to her feet. It had a straight neckline that cut very high across her chest, revealing only a little of her pale shoulders and collarbone. Long sleeves tapered as snugly to her as the rest of the dress did.

There were no embellishments, no patterns, no beading or needlework. Nothing but the wrap of the red cloth around her figure. The dress held to her form all the way down, a slit running up her right side to just under mid-thigh to allow her to walk… and then some he was sure. It was just enough to leave a casual feel to it.

Dorothy was apparently finished waiting for him to remember himself and walked towards him with a smirk. "Well, I'm hoping that's a good speechlessness," she purred, stepping up to start her own inspection by tugging his collar a little.

And Quatre mentally slapped himself, twice, for his thoughts. Blinking it back he tried a nervous smile. "Sorry. Um, you look very, uh, nice." Oh, smooth.

Dorothy chuckled, looking back up to find his eyes before giving him a wink. "Need to work on that, Casanova," she confidingly whispered before going back to usual and taking an approving eye over him instead.

He cleared this throat instead and nodded, feeling like an idiot. "Yeah."

"Red is definitely a good color on you. I, on the other hand, will just have to suffer tonight," she mumbled happily to herself. "So what's the problem?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to say something before he realized he had no idea what. Looking down between them again, he could only think that it was rather cute that they matched. "I don't remember," he gave her a sheepish smile instead.

Dorothy hummed skeptically at him before stepping around him to her dresser. "Well good. Now then, I just need to make myself pretty. Can't have the man of the hour walking in with my homely side," she mumbled to herself.

Quatre smirked at the idea, watching after her as she picked up a small bag and began rummaging through it. "Do you have a homely side?" he mildly asked.

She leaned back to him with a smile. "Better," she winked.

* * *

She had thought she was well versed and prepared for anything that a social event could throw at her. Dorothy Catalonia had been groomed and formed to be the image of impeccable social graces, versed in conversation and with endless hours of experience to her credit.

But not even the best of Romafeller's men of etiquette could keep up with the mad flock of people who surrounded her tonight. Not only was the entire building's staff flooded into the main floor's assembly of rooms and receiving areas, but numbers of the resource station's teams had come in for the event as well.

And she had honestly never been so impressed with someone in a situation like this in her life as she was now of her date. Not only could Quatre remember people, and in some cases their spouses as well, but he maneuvered the rooms in a constant rotation, his personal nature coming easy in the environment of people he was used to being around.

With this audience there was no purpose, and in deed, no way for her to take on her typical tactics. Quatre didn't need any of her specialties in this area tonight, and she was finding herself merely at his beckon call. After an hour or so of this she couldn't even remember the higher management people that she been acquainted with before tonight without his introduction and little reminder notes as to when they'd met before. Thankfully she thought she was doing well enough that they didn't notice.

Follow, smile, shake hands, giggle, nod, smile and repeat.

Oh, her cheeks hurt. Smile. And she was blessing all of Heaven that Quatre was short and she'd picked out a paper-thin pair of sandals instead of the heels she'd originally thought of. Which actually—shake hands—made him appear about two inches taller than her. Odd. Giggle. Had she not noticed—nod—him gaining the extra height on her? Smile.

Well, she supposed that would be normal. She was eighteen, and being female she probably peeked at her height two years ago. Quatre probably still had one or two growth spurts left.

She had to be bored if this was the extent of her thoughts.

Smile, shake hands, nod, giggle… wait, that was the wrong order. Oh, nobody was noticing her anyway.

It wasn't until she felt him lightly take her hand and squeeze it a second that she gave him her attention back in the crowd milling around. She turned to notice that Quatre's eyes were focused back over her shoulder instead of at her. "There's another group I'd like you to meet."

Dorothy found it mildly odd when he didn't release her hand again but purposefully escorted her towards a little pile of people near a snack table. She didn't have time to worry about it though as she recognized one of the men they were headed towards.

'Oh, bloody hell. Thanks a lot, Quatre,' she mentally sniffed as she was led up to the chubby bald man that she had had the unpleasant feeling had been looking her over in the break room several months ago when she'd waited there. 'Smile,' she told herself.

Yip, definitely the same guy. The same crawling feeling prickled against her skin as the hugely grinning man raked his eyes down her. She fought to look at anyone else in the group as Quatre introduced her around, and she really hadn't a clue why he was so bent on introductions to these people, just a group of middle-managers really. And the chunk of a pervert who was an accounting auditor.

It was when she moved to shake hands that she felt rather nauseous when he, last in line, moved her hand to slobber a kiss on the back of it. She'd dealt with some exceptionally nasty men in her lifetime, so of course she kept her features immune, but inside she was picturing Quatre crayfish torture for this.

If this guy's cholesterol was plotting an attack she was praying for it to strike now.

There was a stumbled conversation for a few moments and she kept her eyes purposefully off of the man visually feeling her up, and very nonchalantly rubbed the back of her hand on her dress to remove the feeling of his… lips. As soon as this was over she was going to give Quatre a few harsh hints as to when to move a woman out of 'hostile terrain,' because he obviously wasn't getting the sledgehammer of dirty thoughts she was swinging at him.

He turned a question to her and she happily answered, drawing more than just her admirer's attention to herself. Why didn't his guy have a wife beside him to smack him in the back of the head like a couple of the others around here?

Dumb question, Dorothy.

'Come on, Quatre, be a good boy and take your lovely date somewhere else… how about L1?' she mentally pleaded. Outwardly she followed the rest of the conversation, and found the whole situation strange. His entire attitude seemed a little off with these people.

Pointedly ignoring the man in front of her, and the area that she knew his eyes were focused on, she turned over the situation and made a conscious effort to take in Quatre's stance beside her, his words, the obvious discomfort coming from two of the others…

Oh. 'Well then,' she mildly smirked to herself, 'let's see what we really have here.'

She placed a comment into the conversation again, just enough to turn eyes her way, and she picked her target. The one in the middle got it first as she met his eyes purposefully, managing to keep the look until he flinched away.

Guilty conscious perhaps? How strange.

Dorothy noted the tub-o-perv swallow and she had officially had enough of him trying to x-ray her bra. Letting the others fend for themselves, she turned to meet his eyes, and when he raised them at the move she narrowed hers slightly, letting him know he'd been caught.

And he smiled.

'Oh gross!' her brain screamed.

So she went to force of habit and gave him a single, millisecond look over and specifically looked away, giving him just enough of an impolite hint that she was _not_ interested.

At this point she mildly hoped that Quatre didn't really like these guys, because there was no doubt that the 'auditor' wasn't missing an inch. And his friend there beside him was having a little trouble with the conversation too.

Quatre had to notice that. Come on, already. She knew he was oblivious, but honestly. Just notice, take a little sympathetic offense to it, and lead her out of here.

He turned again to include her in the conversation and she easily answered… and then flawlessly shifted her weight towards him and raised a hand to gently place it on his elbow. If he didn't move her, she'd move him.

It was a friendly enough touch, easy and natural when being escorted by someone. But either he didn't get the point, or he really wasn't thinking. Quatre bent his arm up in typical style but moved his other hand to cover over hers, sufficiently trapping her there with a more intimate gesture than would usually be appropriate for someone introduced basically as a project investor and negotiator.

Not that she minded personally in the least. She just found it strange… again.

She'd been preoccupied with the first jerk and had left her more intuitive side off. Most of the evening it had been off actually. Since she was around acquaintances she hadn't expected to need it. She'd picked up some people that he obviously didn't care for, many more that he liked, and a minor collection that didn't like him.

Including these guys, she finally noted.

There was something about the three here on the end. The other two at the side hadn't been involved nearly as much. There was something about these people, something he'd wanted her to meet them for.

Or something that he wanted to show her to them for.

Well, she knew her escort better than to think it was for chunky's benefit. Fine then, she could follow her dance partner.

One of the other men at the end of the row made a joke out of their conversation and they chuckled at it, giving her an excuse to shift in closer to his side. He turned to glance at her and she met his look with an easy smile before she turned back to the other two.

Subtly was not her best ploy, but she had collected a number of them. Dorothy chose her stance carefully to display enough leg through the slit in her skirt, but kept herself purposefully brushing the material of his slacks. His side hid one of her arms but none of her chest.

Freud should be taking notes from his grave.

She swallowed down the indignant feelings and easily blended into the choppy conversation. These guys obviously didn't know Quatre all that well, and visa versa. They probably never really worked together, so it wasn't all that easy to carry on a friendly conversation, but one of the men happened to be a great chatterbox and filled in any and every empty place.

And the wannabe pimp in front of her boisterously added more than a few comments, when he wasn't… occupied.

* * *

"Punch?" Quatre asked coming back to her side and offering her a cup.

Dorothy took it gratefully. "Unless you have anything stronger back there," she mumbled with a nod towards the drink table.

He gave her a mild chuckle. "Muslim owned company," he explained before raising his glass in a cheers and then bumped his plastic cup against hers.

She rolled her eyes but then paused before her cup reached her lips. Looking back at him she saw him scan the crowd idly. "I thought it was only hard liquors that you couldn't have," she ventured.

Quatre turned back to her and shook his head, "Any alcohol."

"None?" she raised an eyebrow at him. Dorothy was as tolerant as the next person, but she was also a good European without any form of repugnance for moderate drinking. And she was also rather used to not-so-moderate drinking in those around her.

"None," he confirmed, obviously a little amused with her inability to believe that. "I'm sure that's hard for a good Catholic," he teased.

"That stereotype a blatant lie, by the way," she snipped, taking a sip of her drink.

"I know. I didn't mean anything by it," he relented.

She gave him a mockingly stern look for it but broke a smile anyway and waved it off. Another thought flashed through her mind as she turned this over. "…Um, you can't be held accountable for what you didn't know, right?" she timidly asked.

She turned back to look up at him as he took another drink and gave her an odd look. "Why?" he cautiously asked.

She found something else to turn her eyes to. "Well… Europeans tend to use a lot of cooking wines," she explained. "And I know you've had that," she spit out really fast and took a well-timed drink from her cup.

"Oh," was the only response.

Dorothy shrugged to herself, "All of the actual alcohol burns out during cooking though."

He specifically pinned her with a look. "Really?"

She cringed a little, "I don't know how much research has really been done into that though."

He shook his head, "I guess I'll take your word for it then."

She nodded, at least happy that he didn't take offense to it. "Sorry," she lightly apologized, feeling like a terrible 'infidel.'

"You didn't know," he brushed it off with a chuckle. "Besides, it'd be a little easier if I followed it more strictly."

He seemed to inwardly sigh at himself, and she nodded understandingly. She could sympathize with attempting to find your faith again, especially after their lives to this point. However, she was interrupted as she saw his eyes catch on something before he pointedly turned away to sweep the crowd again. "What is it?" she asked anyway.

Quatre looked back to her a little confused at her question before she turned to try to pick out something in the direction he'd been looking in. Finding nothing of interest she turned back with an expectant look.

Dorothy was beginning to understand her role here this evening a little better as time went on. Her escort was not only walking her through a number of the crowd, he was working some of those that she could sense were not especially fond of him.

He was using her as a crutch.

She didn't mind, it wasn't the first time someone had held her in that position. Besides, she was more than happy to oblige. She just hadn't expected it from Master Winner. And she wished he would have given her a hint, she could have recognized it much earlier in the evening. But she had her chance now and she intended to use her position.

He faltered just a bit as she stood waiting for an answer to what had set his jaw and turned his eyes away. The answer surprised her though as he nodded off to the doorway to the main reception room. "I just spotted someone I've been avoiding."

"Ah," she cooed with a smirk. Turning she casually took his arm and started off for the doors whether he liked it or not. "Then I do believe I would very much like to meet them."

He sighed miserably and let her lead through the people around them. "Of course you do," he whispered.

Dorothy did happily muse that he was learning. "Who are we looking for?" she quietly asked as they entered the other room.

He mumbled something she didn't catch beside her and purposefully took the lead. "One of my Board of Directors."

"_The_ director?" she clarified.

He nodded and Dorothy automatically felt herself trying to switch modes. Where was the little worm of a man? Poor Quatre was far too polite to insult the usurper properly, but she wouldn't have the least bit of difficulties.

No, no. Quatre wouldn't appreciate that nearly as much as she did. 'Smile,' she told herself again as they once more greeted a small group.

"Mr. Sheel, nice to see you tonight," he started, friendly as ever.

"Quatre, fine night," the man in question responded, sipping at his drink.

"I'd like to introduce one of leading investors, Lady Dorothy Catalonia. Mr. Sheel is on my board," he added again for appearances.

"Mr. Sheel," she extended her hand, palm down, and watched the man fumble just a second at shaking it instead of kissing it. She loved that set up. "I must congratulate you all on such a noteworthy growth this year."

"We all hope it stays that way until next month. Cash flow is always tight with growth," he wearily stated.

Raising an eyebrow she bit back her laugh. "Such a pessimist. That is probably what makes you a Director," she snipped. "Surely you have to be pleased with such expansive projects taking off."

"As an investor I'm sure you're thrilled with the future numbers," he half-scoffed, taking another drink. "But a few minor changes and we should be placed back on track as usual."

Changes that she knew Quatre didn't agree with. "We're doing quite well, yes," her date interjected to smooth that over.

"Well, I have every faith in you gentlemen. It is precisely because of the initiative I've seen recently that I decided on your company. I've never been a good fence-sitter," she chuckled with a specific sip at her drink.

The man in front of them coldly turned to more 'pleasant' chatter before they went their separate ways again.

Quatre paused her with a mild hand on her arm as they found a small opening. Leaning down to her ear he whispered, "I love you," with a chuckle.

She innocently batted her lashes at him before giving him a perfectly evil smile.

* * *

"So what was the real reason for tonight?" she asked as she sat perched on his desk with a plate of chocolate covered cherries confiscated from the clean up downstairs.

Quatre watched her oddly as she thoughtfully chewed at the things. She hadn't touched them all night, and had barely nibbled much of anything. Apparently she didn't eat in public all that well. "What do you mean?" he asked, brushing it off as a girl thing.

Finishing organizing the receipts and a couple of scribbled notes, he walked back around to the front of his desk. Dorothy sat with her legs crossed and the plate in her lap, the slit in her dress was skewed a little by her knee and fell open down her legs. A fact that apparently didn't bother her since it was just down to the two of them.

Little did she know…

Very purposefully pushing that off for the twentieth time tonight, he stepped over and leaned back against his desk beside her. Dorothy was honestly precious. She was not only beautiful, but charming, witty, possibly a little malicious but only in certain circumstances, but always polite about it. In public at least.

He bit down the smile that threatened him as he thought over the evening while she chewed.

"You had an ulterior motive with inviting me, didn't you?"

Quatre looked back at her, expecting an accusation. But he found only a curiously thoughtful look to her eyes as she twisted a cherry stem idly in her fingers. How did he answer that? "I…" he stumbled and then turned away from her eyes. "I guess I wanted to have a friendly face around," he tried.

Dorothy snickered at him. "You know what I just remembered?" He turned back to watch her pick up another cherry. "You're a really bad liar," she smirked at him and then raised an eyebrow expectantly before purposefully biting off the sweet.

And he sighed, realizing that all the nice things he'd thought about her tonight were a figment of his, slightly hormonal, imagination.

She must have seen the exasperated expression because she giggled at him again as she swallowed. "You just needed someone to push you in the right direction," she guessed. "Although I have to say you didn't really need it."

He gave her an odd look but backed down the impulse to correct her thinking. "I think you underestimate your influence," he answered instead, sliding back to sit beside her. Like massively underestimating it.

"Well, I know it can't be my inspiring pep talks," she mumbled, offering the plate to him.

He laughed at her but shook his head. "No thanks. I don't really care for cherries."

"But they're chocolate covered," she blinked, obviously expecting that to solve the problem.

"But they're still cherries," he tried to explain through his smile.

Dorothy looked back down at the things, "But they're maraschino cherries… and they're chocolate covered. There's nothing left of the actual fruit."

"So?"

"So eat one," she commanded.

And just to appease her he snagged one off the plate and bit it off, tossing the stem back down in the little pile she'd collected. "Hum," he mumbled, chewing the thing.

"Good, right?" she smiled.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, swallowing. "No." Her shoulders slumped. "It's still a cherry," he reasoned. "Chocolate isn't enough to make me forget that."

"You're really taking the joy out of this, you know that?" she grumbled at him.

Quatre shrugged, "I don't really get the massive appeal for chocolate anyway."

And Dorothy melted down to give him a horrified expression that looked like he'd just murdered her kitten. "I don't think I can see you anymore," she whispered, deadpan.

He bulked, "You're going to dump me because I'm not chocolate obsessed?"

"Girl has to have her standards," she turned away with her nose up.

"Great," he rolled his eyes. "All the reasons that I'm not good enough, and I lose you over food." Dorothy turned back to give him a confused look before he realized how he'd said that. "Never mind," he shook it off. Standing to his feet he offered her a hand. "If I promise to pretend to like it can I still walk you home?" he teased.

She laughed at him and moved her plate to take his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "No, but I will let you drive," she winked. Stealing the last cherry off the plate she held it by its stem towards him. "For one more," she conditioned.

He tried to give her an annoyed look for it, but she was so cute inching the little thing closer towards him. He tried to pull back from the approaching item, but she still held his hand and locked him in place. Wiggling the cherry at him her smile cracked to a laugh. "You're not serious," he refuted her attempts.

That was obviously the wrong thing to say to a woman holding chocolate. Her smile only grew as her eyes narrowed and the cherry moved over until it pressed against his, deliberately, closed lips. Quatre could only try to glare at her as she broke into giggles first.

After that he couldn't help but crack. He moved enough to laugh before giving her a groan and finally taking the thing from her. Dorothy pulled the stem off and he was stuck eating the horribly sugary thing, and trying not to choke as he laughed at her for it. "Mmm," he tried.

For her part she turned away with her happy cackle of a laugh and he had to swallow before he laughed at her laughter. Dorothy discarded her plate of stems and then moved to tug him along after her towards the door with his hand that she hadn't let go of.

She may be the most confusing thing he had ever known in his life, but he was slowly finding that that was simply the charm of her. Only one of the dearly intoxicating qualities she possessed.

Again he mentally smacked himself as he let her lead him out of the office. Why was he being such a sap?

* * *

"Women flirt to keep their stock high, men to get somewhere." - Mignon McLaughlin

AN: OK, after the entire, exceptionally long, chapter, I still didn't get to the part I wanted to get to! Grrrr. Oh well, this will have to tide you over until I can get the rest written. And I know, I broke the cardinal rule of GW fanfiction. Namely: if it's not a 3x4, one should never mention the 'g word' with poor Quatre. Well I personally think he deserves better than that. ;)


	28. Chapter 28

AN: Well, my dearly beloved readers. It is a new year, and what did I do to start it off? I slacked off and didn't give you guys a weekly update already! (shame on Isis) Sorry! Holidays are far too hectic and stressful to write during. Anyhoo, I come to you in a special way to say Happy Anniversary! Yes, yes, it was exactly one year ago that I decided to begin writing again after having left my keyboard for other facts of life for a number of years. And so, the little four page "Manifestations" one-shot is still alive in its spin-offs. :D I hope you all continue to enjoy the ride as much as I am! Love to all, Isis.

"Revelations"  
By Isis  
Chapter 28

The pencil scribbled out fuzzy dots of color and lines as it moved far too rapidly over the paper. Quatre was trying in vain to keep up with the hum flowing through his head as he worked in the worst musical shorthand known to man. Halfway down the sheet he wasn't even paying attention to the measure lines anymore as he bunched it all together in a jumble.

It was just a melody, something that had been toying around in his head for a couple weeks now. For some reason it wouldn't be forgotten though and he had decided this morning that if it didn't intend to leave, he could at least get a horrible, barebones of it on paper. His violin was still in his left hand and braced against his shoulder as he raced at scribbling down the poor excuses for notes on the blank staff paper.

Finally getting all he could of it in a choppy sequence of disjointed thoughts, he dropped the pencil again and looked over the paper, satisfied that he had a start of a personal composition. It was something that he hadn't tried in many years. Somewhere around his music room he had some, likewise scribbled, sheets where he'd attempted a few songs at maybe eleven or twelve.

They'd never amounted to much. Typically anything he came up with ended up sounding far too similar to something he'd already learned. So far, this wasn't shaping up like anything he could place. Of course, he had very little to go on.

Picking up his bow again he picked out the sketchy patterns, noting a few corrections here and there from the way it sounded in his head.

Quatre honestly felt rather envious of true composers that could come up with a piece from beginning to end as a solid stream of consciousness. Well, he'd never expected to hold that form of talent.

He noticed the light click-clack sounds coming slowly down the hallway towards him as he paused to mark a section that seemed completely out of sequence. Quickly placing his handwritten copy behind the other sheet music and books on his stand, he lowered his violin and made a production of flipping through the pages as Dorothy sauntered lazily around the corner and peeked into the room.

"Morning, Master Winner," she greeted.

"Good Morning, Miss Dorothy," he returned with a smile. "Come in."

Pacing idly in she swept a gaze over the room, tucking her hands behind her back. Attired in a filmy brown-patterned skirt that layered a few inches below her knees and a plain cream button-down sweater, he had to admit that she seemed rather unfazed by the late night last evening. He'd heard her slip out of the house this morning on her way to church but she hadn't offered him the choice of going with her.

Dorothy was rather used to one of the area churches, considering how often she visited here, and he tried not to pry. She seemed comfortable on her own so he was simply happy to allow her to slip away for an hour or so. She would always return and tug him along after her to go out for breakfast as her thank you for allowing her to stay.

It'd become a nice little routine that they had fallen into. Of course, she usually found him buried under something up in his office, but for some reason he had forsaken even thinking about work. He'd been up earlier than normal this morning anyway and he'd had the impulse to indulge himself.

"Any requests, Milady?" he jokingly asked as she apparently took a comfy seat on the piano bench in front of the window alcove his music stand was set up in.

"Artist's choice, maestro," she flourished with a regal wave for him to proceed.

But her smile was enough for him to back down the nervous twitch that hit him. He was never one to shy away from an audience and he certainly didn't mind playing for someone with Dorothy's ear, but he felt a little embarrassed alone in front of her. Instead he pushed it down and turned back to the books in front of him. "Well, let's see."

Opening the one on top he found the book opened to a well-read set of pages automatically. Vivaldi was a guilty love affair of his, having an extensive collection of violin concertos in a number of fantastic arrangements. But he was certain that Dorothy knew those by heart and he didn't want just anything.

Something in him wanted to impress her.

Closing the first book again he took it off the stand and set it aside on the boxed window seat beside him. Opening the second he inwardly smiled as he found the page he wanted. Clipping the book open, he raised the violin and started in without hesitation. He didn't have these works nearly as memorized as some of the old classics, but he'd spent a good deal of time working through them.

The notes were shorter, picking the pace a little faster than most composers but it was peppered with drawn out intervals, giving a variety. The music itself came off clean and although varied, it carried uniformity throughout. The composer was a true favorite to him, the sound unique but something he was very familiar with.

He doubted greatly that Dorothy would have ever heard of her or of the works themselves. After all, this was a colony musician, still alive and still directing on tour he believed.

Why it sometimes nagged at him as important that Dorothy learn to appreciate, or better yet enjoy, the atmosphere of the Colonies, he wasn't sure. Somehow, he honestly just wished that she could find a place for herself here.

He was more than likely just being greedy and wishing they could bridge that gap in their understandings of home.

Quatre still had to concentrate on the notes in front of him as he played, which he didn't mind. It did give him an excuse not to notice Dorothy's reaction during the song. But as the final, sweeping decrescendo hummed out, he lowered his instrument and the bow and cautiously turned from the stand to look over at her.

He was rewarded with a contented smile, and… an open look of admiration. He blinked, but that was still the best description for what he saw in her eyes. "Bravo," she mildly cheered.

And he gave her a tight little displaced smile, feeling his heart puddle at the compliment. "Thank you," he tried anyway. Turning he picked up the cloth from the case on the window seat and carefully wiped down the instrument, specifically trying to avoid her noticing the blush he figured he was wearing.

Dorothy stood from her seat and paced up to take a look at the music book beside him on the stand, humming very lightly along the melody he'd just played. With a smile he let her look over the book, happy that she'd liked it and was obviously interested. He heard her pause with a giggle as he finally replaced the violin back in the case and tucked the cloth lovingly around it before closing the lid. "Careful, Quatre. A lesser woman could think you have a crush on that thing."

He rolled his eyes with a puffed out sigh. "If you were this old you'd want me to be nice to you too," he teased rounding back to slip past her towards the door.

"If I were that old I'd be dust," she corrected, snagging his arm before he could move away from her and pulling him back in front of the stand. "Why have I never heard of this person?"

Quatre gave her a smile as she studied a couple of the other concertos around it. "Probably because she is still very new. But you can't tell much from just that." Gently dislodging her fingers from his arm, she mindlessly let him go and he sidestepped around to the far corner.

A set of shelves sat littered with a collection of music disks from three generations back, but he found the one he was looking for easily. He turned back with it to find Dorothy holding the book up to study the cover before moving it and casually looking through the loose sheets he had tucked behind the thing. Including…

"Uh," he started as her hand moved to pick through the sheets, "you should really give this a try. This person is a very good director as well as a composer," he purposefully interrupted her innocent looking, walking back quickly to hand her the disk instead.

Dorothy took it with a thoughtful expression as she read through the cover. And Quatre, just helpfully, took the book from her other hand and placed it securely back over the sheets left on the stand, sliding the whole thing farther into the alcove away from her and stepping in between them to look over her shoulder at the offered disk.

"That will give you something to listen to on the way home," he explained helpfully. "I think you might like it."

Dorothy hadn't looked up from her reading yet but nodded absently, "You seem to."

"I do," he nodded.

"So this was actually a live tour then?" she asked, flipping the case over again and reading through the selections.

"Yes, I think they still do, but I've never caught a performance." She gave a little hum at that, and he took the opportunity put a very light hand at the small of her back and prod her along with him towards the door. "So, where are you taking me this morning?" he chuckled.

Dorothy looked over at him in surprise as she let him lead her along. "Master Winner, voluntarily offering to pass the check? Are you feeling ill?" she accused.

Quatre laughed it off and shook his head, letting her lead out of the room. "Just hungry. I'll fight you for the bill later," he lied. She only brushed it off and turned out of the room with him on her heels as he threw a relieved glance back at his music stand.

* * *

Their waitress obviously didn't have much to do yet this morning as the sprinkled crowd around the little café lounged over papers or idly conversation. Quatre sat next to the front windows, usually where the two of them got seated. The view showed the slow crawl of the side street neighborhood they were in.

He couldn't remember how they had ever discovered this little place but the two frequented it now and then when Dorothy was staying. It wasn't like he typically went a lot of places alone, and dragging even half of the guys with him to a cozy little place like this probably wouldn't work all that well.

And so their waitress, the same one they usually had, was passing the time in a bubbly chitchat with him as Dorothy excused herself to the restroom. The young lady had taken their orders already and was back to fill their barely touched water glasses. She was a fun, cheery type of person and he couldn't help but like her odd ways of starting conversations.

She chuckled easily at one of her own jokes before apparently remembering her rounds again. "Would your sister like some more coffee, do you think?" she asked, pointedly looking over at Dorothy's place.

"Sister?" he started, and then honestly tried to politely bite down his laugh at her. "I'm sure she would," he answered anyway.

The girl paused, comically biting her lip. "Oops, I suppose that means she's not your sister?" she asked with a little embarrassed smile.

"I have a number of sisters, but she's not one of them," he tried to keep a straight face. "No relation, just a friend."

"Oh, sorry," she giggled at herself. "Well, I'll bring your _friend_ some more creamer to," she smiled and turned away, checking in on another table before she actually passed Dorothy on her way back to the kitchen.

Quatre tried to fight the chuckles again. He wasn't sure how she'd thought they were related. Hair color he supposed, but that was the absolute extent of their physical similarities. Just what he needed though, another sister.

Dorothy took her seat in the booth again with a humorously raised eyebrow. "You know, I can always stall longer if you want to get her number."

And he faltered completely to a stop before he even got to tell her the story. "Excuse me?" he mumbled, confused.

She sipped at her cup with a giggle before lowering it again. "This is probably your, what, third, forth time in here? I'd say you know her well enough to be 'sociable.'"

Quatre slumped back a little in his seat. "Is there anything you don't see as a conspiracy or potential love interest?" he asked, completely taken aback at her one-track mind.

"They're all the same in my book," she shrugged. "But come now; tell me she wasn't working the 'is that your girlfriend' angle?"

"Of course not," he answered in credulously. "Just a second ago she thought you were my sister."

The hand over her mouth really didn't help the evil little cackle that she gave him. "Really?" she asked composing herself.

"Yes, really," he stated matter-of-factly, very tired of her insinuations for some reason today.

"And what did you say?" she asked, folding both her arms on the table in front of her and leaning in.

Giving her an odd look he shrugged, "I corrected her."

She nodded, "That I'm not your sister."

"Yes."

"And that I am what?" she blinked expectantly at him.

Feeling that she was in the middle of her first 'blond' moment he stared at her. "That you're a friend."

"Ah, I see." She moved to lounge back against the booth's back cushion and gave him a pointed look. "So you just informed her that we're not dating."

He failed to see what that had to do with anything for a second until her words immediately came back. Sighed at the accusation he turned away to look out the window and not dignifying the idea with a statement.

There was another little giggle from her as she picked her cup back up and took a sip. "Romance is a war, just as much as everything else. Some are the type to march out and attack first, and some are guerrilla soldiers who scout their targets first."

"If romance is a war to you, you're going to have trouble finding a date," he cautioned, still not turning back to her.

"Oh, but I just have a thing for knights in shining armor," she purred, leaning in again. Out of the corner of his eye he could tell she was batted her lashes at him.

And he couldn't stop the chuckle at her effort. Turning back he rolled his eyes at her and took a drink from his glass, hoping the conversation ended there.

"Don't worry, dearest," she shook her head. "I'm sure you'll start liking girls someday," she teased.

And he had to put his napkin over his mouth as he nearly choked on his water. Recovering, he turned back to her with a rather bitter look before he was met with her mild concern.

"Are you all right?" their waitress interrupted coming up to the table with a coffee pot and a bowl of cream packets.

"Fine," he brushed it off for her. "I just found something amusing," he tossed a quick look at Dorothy and back again, "at the wrong time."

"Hate it when that happens," she nodded sympathetically before turning to Dorothy. After filling the cup again she turned away with a smile and left them again.

"I didn't mean to drown you," she only half seriously apologized.

He waved it off and took another sip of his water to get the feeling out of his throat. She didn't mean it, really didn't even think anything of it probably. He was just so tired of having his personal life, or lack thereof, displayed for criticism.

"Quatre?" she got his attention back. "Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes probing a little as he met them.

Wonderful. Now she wouldn't quit asking what the matter was until he gave in again. This was not what he wanted to get into. Especially with her. He just didn't want to deal with it. As far as he was concerned, it was over. "Aside from being drowned?" he asked instead, giving her a weak smile for her concern.

She must have bought it because she shook her head and left it at that.

He searched quickly for something else to talk about and was rewarded with a basically blank slate. "So, when is your flight?" he asked, and then relented. "Not that I'm trying to get rid of you."

She gave him a momentary pout over her cup before bulking with a gasp. "Oh, I forgot," she whispered to herself and quickly dug into her purse beside her. "I haven't set it." Pulling her phone free, she scooted out of the booth again with both items. "This should just take a second," she apologized. But before passing him for the front foyer, she leaned down and secretly whispered. "Drink your water so she has an excuse to come back. And smile," she winked.

She purposefully spirited away before he could catch her by her hair and gag her with it for the comment.

Reaching the front foyer, she paused in the airlock of the building, judging that there was no way he could overhear her. Dorothy pulled her return ticket from her purse and quickly dialed the ticketing number. Finally getting to a rescheduling agent, she made the change from her flight this afternoon to one headed out tomorrow evening.

She didn't like lying to him, but she'd been under the suspicion that there was something going on with him for a week now. He wasn't acting like himself and she intended to figure out what was going on.

Finishing with the switch, she casually waited a minute longer until the waitress left their table again before closing her phone and returning. Slipping back into the booth, she gave him a disheartened smile. "Well, it seems that I'm not going home until tomorrow night, now," she stated, hoping he wouldn't see through this. "The flight to New Port from here is never full, I didn't even think about being sure to check first." Technically it wasn't a lie.

"Oh, Dorothy, I'm sorry. If you need to be back my shuttle is always an option," he offered.

She waved it off, "No, there's nothing going on but choosing new drapes for the receiving room anyway." Looking back up, she sighed a little. "You don't have to house me, I can always find somewhere else, at least think," she purposefully added with a bitter note.

"Absolutely not," he smiled. "It's not like that house ever fills up."

"Thank you," she smiled.

She had basically one day to figure out what was eating at him.

* * *

As the lights dimmed out to early evening Quatre was still wondering where the day had gone. Dorothy had pretty much led him by the hand all day, scurrying this way and that, from shopping malls to parks to anything else that they wandered past. And he didn't mind.

He'd offered to show her a couple of the more 'touristy' spots on the colony and she had actually taken him up on it. So they had spent part of the afternoon wondering through Centennial Park and the Natural Space Mining Museum. Which, considering Winner Inc. was stated as having donated the entire startup base for the thing, he wondered why he'd never been in before.

Unfortunately he found the exhibits much more interesting than Dorothy did. After wondering around the 'dusty rocks,' as she put it, he had completely lost her on the third floor. Finally catching up, he found her scrutinizing the uncut gemstone and crystal mineral deposits found in various asteroids like a professional jeweler.

He'd laughed at her but she'd waved it off, reminding him that her favorite color was still sparkly.

Regardless, he did manage to pick out the newest display in the room with relative ease. A very small sample of a pretty color-changing stone that they had discovered about a year ago. She had taken particular interest in it when she noticed that the closest related stone originally found on Earth was alexandrite, something he'd never heard of but she apparently knew quite well. Aside from the far paler coloring of these stones, they were chemically about the same.

Quatre had to wonder if he didn't have a couple of these samples still laying around his office in a file somewhere, despite the expense of the significantly limited precious gem whenever it finally made its way into the jewelry market.

Prodding her out of the gem exhibit they left the nearly deserted museum at closing time, heading for anywhere around the business district that they could catch an early dinner at. But it was twilight before they started back to figure out where they had left the car, and after window-shopping through the collection of trinket and junk stores lining the streets, the lights had gone out on them.

Towards the heart of the main cityscape though it was still moving with people and traffic. Dorothy walked along beside him now, looking out as they passed down a raised pedestrian crossing. But she surprised him when she slowed to a stop against the railing, letting the rest of the foot traffic move around them.

He turned to watch her curiously as she stared out at the three and four hundred story skyline around them. "It's lovely, isn't it?" she commented without looking away.

Quatre had had his heart melted by the woman in front of him before. He had turned into a puddle at her feet more times than he could count. But now her innocent little unthinking comment stole the heart out of his chest, taking his breath with it.

Why, he didn't have enough sense left to determine. He could only stand there, watching her in the muted light of the city around them as she happily took in the view through the railings of the footbridge. "…Yes it is," he unthinkingly agreed, never noticing what it was that had actually attracted her interest.

Still not turning back to him she stepped in the couple feet between them. "What's that little building?" she asked.

It took him a couple attempts to get his head to turn to look in the direction she was watching. "Which one?"

Stepping in against his side she raised her hand, still complete with shopping sack, and pointed towards their left. "The short one that's all lit up," she specified.

It took a second for him to clear his vision and follow her finger towards a shorter building in the center of the area at the opposite end of the massive park. "That's the Linda Noel Building," he returned, chasing his brain back to the front of his head. "It's the colony capital."

"And who's Linda Noel?" she turned to him.

Meeting her pale blue eyes in the twinkling glow of the street and building lights, he didn't have a clue who Linda Noel was anymore. "Uh…" Blinking he turned away again to the view and mentally smacked himself. "She was our first Governor. The building and the park were both made for the colony centennial."

"Oh," she commented. "And the lights are for…?"

He paused, not getting right away what she was talking about before it dawned on him. From here, it did look like the whole building was lit up with a huge array of little lights all over it. Anyone who had seen the building in the daylight knew better though. He was about to explain when the idea caught up with him and he turned back to look at her instead. "How adventurous are you feeling this evening?"

Dorothy gave him a funny look and then turned to look back at the building and then all the way around them again before coming back to his face. "Why?" she cautiously asked.

Nodding towards the building he gave her a smile. "If you want to know about the lights you're going to have to see it."

She paused a second but then bravely shrugged and took his arm. "Lead the way."

* * *

Still forsaking the search for his car the two had hopped one of the ornate little trolleys around the expansive park grounds and ended up in front of the seventy story capital building. And Dorothy figured out what he'd meant by saying she'd have to see it to understand it. The whole building was glass, much like everything else around here, but instead of the typical shaded tinting, this was mirror finished all the way up.

The building was dwarfed by the skyscrapers surrounding it on all sides, but it literally glowed with the lights that reflected off of it from the surrounding structures. But to her surprise, standing across the street gawking up at the thing obviously wasn't Quatre's intention. Instead he pulled her across the street and up to a corner where a set of, literally, outside elevators sat waiting for passengers still at this time of evening.

She gave him an insane look as he held the doors for her and waved her in. "Where are you going?"

"Up," was all he answered with a smile.

Hopelessly giving up she decided she didn't have anything to lose, so she stepped in. The elevator had exactly two choices for buttons, roof or ground. "Roof?" she asked as he pressed it. Looking up she found the whole thing extremely odd that there was a glass roof on the contraption.

He only chuckled and leaned against the back wall of the cramped little thing as it shot upwards.

"Leave something like this to colony engineering only," she mumbled.

"We're creative," he softly agreed.

She could only brush it off before they slowed to a stop and the doors clicked open. Wind swirled in around them and she had to pick her hair out of her face with one hand as she managed to hold her skirt down with the other. Quatre didn't seem phased by the unexpected change and prodded her out of the door and onto the roof.

Once she got the hair unstuck from her lip gloss the first thing she noticed was that it was about ten degrees colder up here than it was on the ground. The wind was also whistling by them in a moderate, constant breeze. She reasoned that the closer to the center of the colony they got, the more they got a taste of the wind belt that whipped through the middle of the space.

But aside from that she walked out after Quatre who was patiently waiting on her. Once she caught up he headed them off towards the side and the high ledge that ran around the circumference of the large square area. Looking up she saw the whole roofline was done in an open worked, gilded twist of girders that rose to a peek probably another four stories over them.

Another toss of the wind and she was again pulling the hair out of her face. Coming up beside Quatre at the railing she tucked her skirt and her purse and sack between her knees and used both hands to pull the whole mass of it back and then twisted it around to keep it together in her hand.

Oh she could already feel the tangles starting.

Quatre mildly chuckled at her and she only gave him a weary look for the annoyance. Too late to do anything about it now. She finished and tucked the length of it under her arm at her side to keep it from blowing all over the place and finally took a good look around her. Over the edge of the metal railing lay a view of the city buildings that exceeded anything of the like she had ever seen before.

The rest of the structures around them towered overhead, climbing high towards the center of the colony, but between them the other buildings of the central populous glittered back at them. She took it in greedily, feeling more than a little surrounded. Doing a slow circle she saw the same types of views come to her from across the neatly set up rooftop, but the front of the building called to her and she slipped away from the elevators to the other railing.

Bouncing up on her toes she leaned into the high metal grillwork and studied the view over the edge, ignoring the cool breeze that was flapping her skirt around her knees. Before her, the whole Centennial Park was laid out like a miniature. The green of the grass was dotted with buildings, including the museum and the little shops they had wandered through earlier. The streets around them were busy with traffic, and the cute little trolleys were still making their rounds through the grounds and around the area.

It was amazing. Honestly breathtaking.

And it was making her queasy.

Lowering from her toes again she stood up straight and examined the view again instead to take her mind off the height. The park cleared out a large flat area between growths of the buildings, giving her a view of the downtown area that tapered down into the distance, even as the curve of the colony made it look like it was coming up again. Raising her chin she followed the arc until it appeared to run into the ceiling structures that she could barely pick out through the lights that assaulted her night vision here.

Well, you don't see that on Earth, she surmised.

Smiling at the thought she finally turned back to do a double take when she found that Quatre wasn't beside her. Turning around she found him still causally rooted to his spot next to the elevator, apparently watching her more than the scenery. Dorothy only caught half of his expression before the wind took her hair again and tossed it back in her face.

Growling in frustration she turned back into the wind and once again pulled it back from her face and twisted it together to stay down. Of all the times for the stupid stuff to be in the way…

Dorothy froze when she felt a pair of arms lightly circle around waist and Quatre's laugh in her ear. "Come here," he whispered, moving only enough to steer her with him down the railing.

She followed along, wondering at the arm he kept around her waist. Maybe he figured she was cold? It certainly was quite a bit cooler up here. She snuck a sideways look at him but in the yellow glow of the omnipresent lighting she couldn't tell much.

She shrugged off the odd feeling she'd been caught in as he led her towards a little triangle of glass with a bench seat in it, one of several littered around the roofline. Dorothy hadn't noticed the other little clumps of people around the area. Couples actually, and…

Oh great. She'd just found the colony's best make out point.

She threw a suspicious look at the man beside her, but then nearly died laughing at herself over the thought. Yeah, right. Quatre Raberba Winner, smooth lady's man that he was and all, out on a dastardly plot to ravage her womanly innocence.

She tried but she still burst out laughing as they reached the bench inside the two-sided wind shelter. It was really a wonderfully designed item, except that much like the elevator it created a twirl to the wind current that was just about perfect for trying to blow her skirt up. Her laugh cut off as she grabbed the front of it to keep it from rising again.

Stepping past the threshold the wind cut down to only a little whistle, and they both stood tangled in her hair that she'd dropped to focus on her skirt. "What's so funny?" he asked, stepping back to cautiously bat the stuff away.

"Oh, it just struck me odd," she worthlessly explained. Tossing her purse and sack down on the triangular bench, she gathered her hair one more time and very sloppily tried to get it in three sections without tangling it any farther. "You're going to have to warn me from now on when I should put my hair back," she teased.

"Sorry. I didn't think about it," he chuckled at her still. She noticed him take a seat on the bench, pulling one knee up and leaning his back against the glass wall.

Dorothy shrugged it off as she continued to get her hair into an uneven, knotted braid. "This really is phenomenal."

Quatre didn't answer as she gazed out through the windbreak to the sparkle of the city around them. And she apparently didn't notice that he wasn't interested in the spectacular view. He couldn't have cared less. The brightest light in the whole colony was standing in front of him.

Well that was a sappy thought.

And for whatever reason, it didn't matter either. He didn't know what had come over him all of a sudden but he refused to analyze it right now. He was just content to be here, be anywhere, with her.

She startled him out of his revelry and the study of her profile as she finished with her hair and moved to sit down on the bench, rummaging through her purse for a minute or two, before coming up with a pony tail holder and wrapping it around the braid. "Much better," she mumbled to herself, tossing it behind her.

He could only smile as she pushed her purse back again and then twisted around to look out the glass walls again. Bringing her legs up she tucked them between the two, leaning on her hand. Quatre loved that little casualness in her when she was with him. In a public situation she would be properly poised, civil and calculated. Times like this she was just herself. Open, at least as much as she ever was, and softer.

They sat in silence for a while, the whistle of the wind breaking the quiet from time to time as she studied the skyline… and he studied her.

It was still different to see her hair back like this. He'd become used to it from any number of things, especially while the group was working on her house. But it just didn't seem the same.

His musings were interrupted yet again as she turned from the view to catch him watching her. "What?" she blinked.

Quatre only shook his head and turned his eyes down. "Nothing, just lost in thought."

Dorothy didn't quite seem to buy that. Instead she scooted a little closed and then moved to sit on her knees, smoothing her skirt down as she faced him. "May I make a confession?" she asked.

He blinked, looking at her over his knee and wondering what had brought this on. "Of course," he answered when it actually seemed like she wanted permission.

"You're not going to appreciate this, and honestly I won't be surprised if you're angry with me for it," she started, looking at her hands in her lap instead of him.

If anything could snap you out of a foggy little revelry, it was a beginning like that.

"I lied to you this morning," she stated, almost matter-of-factly. Taking a deep breath she raised her eyes to his rather worried look. "I had a flight back home already. I specifically rescheduled for tomorrow."

Quatre only stared back at her. It wasn't the worst thing she could have said by a long ways, but he didn't understand. "Why?" Dorothy tilted her head and scrutinized him for a moment, looking for what he didn't have a clue.

"You haven't been yourself lately. I thought maybe you'd tell me what was bothering you if I was around a little longer."

Huh? Wasn't himself? What was bothering him?

It clicked a little late. He hadn't even thought about this week all evening. He'd pushed it out of his head as unimportant anymore. But thinking back, he supposed he could understand that his little reaction this morning could have worried her…

She'd stayed to make sure he was all right? How sweet.

Oh, no. He knew better than to have those thoughts about Dorothy. Shaking that off he tried to focus again. "Uh… I don't know where to start with that," he answered honestly. He couldn't possibly be mad at her for lying to him. Well, he supposed he could be, but she hadn't been purposefully malicious with it and it was only because she cared.

Looking back at her he knew he didn't care that she wasn't upfront with him about it. He'd have missed this if she had left this afternoon and this wasn't something that he would have willingly given up.

"It's alright," he finally answered. "I couldn't possibly mind."

He got a little smile out of her for that and she nodded. But it left again just as quickly. "But something is really bothering you, isn't it?"

It wasn't much of a question by her tone, and he had to relent that he was so transparent to her again. "It's fine. I'm not sure I really want to get into it," he tried instead. No, he really just wanted to forget the whole thing. It didn't matter anymore.

But it obviously mattered to her. The worry in her eyes made him pause. It wasn't typically part of her character to show concern like that. Actually, the whole situation was rather heartwarming, in an odd sort of way. "You're sure?" she prodded.

No, he wasn't sure. He had no idea what kind of damage he'd caused last night. If it was anything like the last social engagement they'd attended the rumors would be around for a month. And knowing the amount of gossip through his building… oh, he didn't want to think about that.

He'd originally wanted to confront those rumors. Dorothy deserved to be seen as more than just an exceptionally attractive woman who wondered through the building once in a while. She had a chance to show her intellect and her charm.

And yes, if he was very honest he'd admit that he wanted to prove the rumors from early this week wrong too. He wanted to prove that a woman didn't have to be after his money, or his position, or his name to be around him. Quatre intended to deliberately shove that fact down their throats if he had to. He also wanted the satisfaction of showing them that he was perfectly capable of escorting a _female_.

That wasn't the truth either. He was actually just being bitter and revengeful and knew without any reservation that taking Dorothy would irritate the crud out of them. He was just hoping one of them would make some derogatory comment to his face. He had three pink slips already mentally filled in for them anyway.

But that was all beside the point. The fact remained that he'd ended up feeling rather crass for asking Dorothy into the middle of this. If he was trying to remind people that she was not an object and was a truly wonderful person… maybe he should have started with himself.

Well, if they were having confessions maybe he should admit his own sins. "I…" he sucked down a breath and turned away from her. "I really wasn't honest with you either. I would have asked you to go with me last night anyway, but I really did have that ulterior motive you accused me of."

She only nodded out of the corner of his vision. "You wanted an ally in hostile territory," she half-chuckled.

It was the same idea she'd had last night and it took him a moment to decide to refute it with the truth. "No. I wanted the most intelligent, attractive and flirtatious woman I knew." He felt like such a jerk.

She didn't cover her shock well as she openly stared at him. "For what?"

Quatre didn't meet her eyes again, hopelessly embarrassed with what he was only now actually realizing about his own intentions. "Director Sheel was the least of my concern last night." Sighing he tipped his head back to lay against the cool wall and looked up at the towering buildings. "I seem to have a talent for overhearing uncharitable comments."

"Uh oh," she whispered.

And he chuckled in spite of himself. Dearest Dorothy. "It didn't settle well with me."

"And so you took me to prove what?" The confusion in her voice was apparent.

Prove what…? That was a good question. To prove he wasn't gay? Yeah, he'd never live that down. To prove that a woman could honestly have some type of interest in him for something other than money? That was partially true. To prove that he wasn't just incapable of accomplishing anything? From personal, to business, to anything else?

He was so tired of being plagued by this stereotype. He was tired of being viewed as nothing but a teenager incapable of understanding his actions. He hated having his very nature be assumed as a weakness. He was sick of having to _prove_ that he wasn't incompetent in everything he tried to accomplish.

"To prove that I can prove," he whispered without thinking.

He didn't actually realize that he'd said that out loud until Dorothy moved to crawl over the bench to his side as much as she could between him and the point of the walls. "Excuse me?"

Quatre turned to look at her, just wanting to find her eyes, to know that she wasn't here for any other reason than that she did honestly care about him. "I'm sorry," he shook his head before laying it back against the wall again, watching her. "I shouldn't have used you like that," he whispered.

Dorothy shook her head in absolute confusion. "Darling, you're not making a bit of sense." Rubbing at her temple a second she shook it off again. "So I'm the most intelligent, attractive and whatever person you know," she paused. "Thank you, by the way. But you really need to get out more," she added as an afterthought. "But what does that prove? That you can get a date?" she chuckled.

And there was nothing to do but laugh at her. Quatre turned to hang his head, wondering how he survived before her. "Yes," he finally just agreed. "Yes. I wanted to be able to claim that I escorted the office's vote for best legs," he flourished.

"Quatre!" she admonished.

And again he only laughed, holding up a hand to informally apologize for the comment.

Dorothy sighed and seemingly gave up. "Just tell me again that you're fine and I'll write it off."

"I'm fine," he sobered. "But I am sorry that I drug you into it."

Settling next to him she stretched her legs out over the bench and moved to lean into his side, her head coming to rest on his shoulder and her hand landing on his arm that was still propped up on his raised knee. "Don't be. You obviously decided that you wanted me there, and that's all I need to know. As long as you're all right with it, the reasons hold no meaning to me."

His heart once again melted out of his chest and he turned to lay his cheek against the top of her head. "That seems rather… apathetic of you."

Dorothy hummed to herself. "Sometimes it's nice to just feel that someone needs you. No matter the reason," she very quietly confessed.

All at once he knew that those few words were truly the sum of her life.

Moving his arm he caught her hand that had been on it, entwining his fingers with hers over the back of it. Bowing his head he brought it over to press a lingering kiss on her wrist, getting her to cringe with a giggle. Relaxing his hold, he dropped their hands to lay against his chest, pressing his cheek back against her head.

And somewhere in the dark with his hand covering hers covering his heart, he understood. He'd lost his ability to deny it any longer…

He'd fallen in love with her.

And the only thing he could do was keep breathing through the pain.

* * *

"It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun." – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 


	29. Chapter 29

"Revelations"  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 29

He honestly didn't know how he'd managed to get down from that building and back home again. Everything was just sort of blurred around him. His mind wouldn't focus for more than a few minutes before he reverted back again.

Dorothy had asked him once again if everything was all right before she opened the door to her room tonight. And the impulse to just slip his arms around her and tell her hit him hard. It had nearly slipped more than just once, but he couldn't bring himself to form those words on his tongue.

He'd brushed it off as just being a little tired, trying not to meet her eyes. She'd see through him right now if he wasn't careful. But she seemed to anyway. Quatre had tried to just say goodnight and turn away, but she had caught him with nothing more than a light touch on his arm that pulled him back. She'd slipped in and raised a hand to brush his bangs back, forcing him to meet her eyes.

The catty little smile in them somehow chased away the absolute pressing urgency that had been unsettling him. She only gave him a smile, said goodnight and pecked a kiss on his cheek before entering her room and closing the door on him.

So, he'd come into his room, sat down on the bed and let himself fall back to stare up at the dark ceiling. And this is where he stayed.

Quatre had no idea what time it was. He didn't have the energy to roll over and look. He didn't even know when they had finally gotten in. It felt like they had sat in that wind shelter for days.

What was he going to do?

Actually, that was kind of the wrong question. He didn't think he was anywhere near the 'doing' stage of anything. He'd been blindsided and thrown into a panic by this. Now, he'd calmed down at least. He needed to start this rationally. Or as rationally as he could.

He'd come to a tentative understanding months ago that he affectionately loved her. As a friend, or so he thought. He'd known then that it wasn't the same. Quatre would readily admit that loved all of his friends. They each held a piece of his heart and measure of his care and concern. He had no problems feeling and understanding that.

But this was something else. Although part of him still just refused to be convinced that what this ache in his heart really was, was love. Honestly, how did he know? He'd accused himself before of being infatuated with her, even having a crush on her.

Maybe that was actually all there was. This was all just brought on by a little too much time around each other lately, and with a little separation maybe it would fade again. These types of things never really lasted long, right? Maybe it would just… go away.

Even though his heart told him that this wouldn't just be magically disappearing any time soon, there was a part of him that was actually saddened by the thought of letting this go. Every other voice in his head yelled at it, but there was something in him that liked this idea. A piece that was happy to have something to hang these extra desires on. He'd found emotions in him that had no excuse for being there otherwise.

But the rest of him was furious, angry that he couldn't control himself any better than this. He'd failed her. That was what kept coming up over and over again even though he tried to push it away. He was supposed to be her friend. Supposed to be a confidant, someone she could trust out of a lifetime of people she couldn't. But he was supposed to be able to let her go. And he only realized now how long he had been holding onto her.

Quatre cringed and closed his eyes on the one thought that had been pounding at him. He'd become the next Andrew.

He held in his heart one single, three-word confession that would not only crush her, but scar her indefinitely.

He wouldn't do that. He couldn't. It scared him to even think about what her reaction would be. Normally, he could tell her almost anything and she would take it all in stride and prove there was no reason he should have even been worried about it. This wasn't the same.

But Quatre also knew just how bad he was at keeping things from her. Hiding these feelings wasn't really a viable option for long. Except…

He blinked his eyes back open again even though nothing but the dim outline of the room looked back at him.

Except that, even though he was still struggling with admitting this, it wasn't new. He'd constantly pushed it off before. Settled for what was in front of him and tried not to think about the reasons or consequences. Looking back, he could watch his own progression, dotted here and there with his excuses and mistaken refusals to deal with the situation.

But if she hadn't noticed this growing in him for this long… Maybe Dorothy wasn't quite as astute as she always seemed to claim to be. She could pick out a waitress, whom he still only half conceded may have some type of casual liking for him, from a few un-noteworthy visits. She could come up with a list of, perfectly likeable, women that she felt he needed to be more 'sociable' with. She could determine everything about affections between others.

But it was when it came to herself that she seemed to have a blind spot. She seemed to be incapable of understanding true affection thrown directly at her. As though she'd never expected it before.

For some reason he couldn't find it all that surprising. He wasn't sure why exactly; he just somehow already knew that she would have difficulty with a true suitor.

Suitor? Is that what he was calling himself now? And exactly how 'suitable' of a 'suitor' did he consider himself?

Dorothy would not appreciate this. His feelings or his thoughts right now.

The idea of what she would think of him absolutely sickened him. She already viewed him mostly as a kid, maybe a protégé of sorts considering her motherly tutelage at all the wrong times. But she had made every possible indication that she did not view him as a romantic possibility for any number of reasons.

But his guilty conscience still couldn't blame all of this on himself. She hadn't purposefully done anything to encourage this in him of course. He honestly had no desire to ever find out what Dorothy would be like with someone she was really interested in. He personally didn't think his heart could take it. But she was naturally adventurous and flirtatious with the men around her. Something he had no experience with.

No matter what, they would never have a normal relationship. At least he didn't find it normal. How many people could you kiss and then walk away from like nothing happened? It really stung now to think about the fact that apparently he couldn't… but she could. He'd never actually walked away from that first little peck on the lips, had he?

Quatre's thoughts tripped over themselves at that memory. They hadn't been nearly as close then. She had hardly ever opened up before that, keeping herself in that sheltered, cold-shouldered attitude of hers. But even then, he'd seen through it. He had always been able to.

Dorothy was a collection of defenses. Her thoughts were her own alone. That was why he loved that casual side to her so much. Whether she knew it or not, it was her way of telling him that she trusted him. If he hadn't taken the chance that night to confront her into letting him forgive her, he wasn't sure where they would be now.

She'd changed after that. _They_ had changed after that. Why was he only seeing it now? Probably considering Mars had, literally, blow up in the meantime he hadn't thought back that far. Everything had just progressed, as smoothly as it ever could.

And if he didn't screw this up here and now, it would continue to progress, wouldn't it? All he had to do… Do. What was he going to do?

* * *

Quatre flipped on the light to his office suite. No one else was in yet this morning. It wasn't unusual for him to be here before the ladies. It was the quiet before the storm. Monday mornings were always a little chaotic as a generality.

Closing the door softly behind him so as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere, he barely noticed the little thing over the doorjamb. For some reason the little green sprig of mistletoe held his attention for a long moment before he let go of the doorknob and turned away down the hall to his office.

Entering, he closed his door behind him, a rarity if he wasn't meeting with someone. He also didn't bother to turn his lights on as he walked over to his desk and stared down at the piles, including the receipts and notes he left Saturday night. Unthinkingly his eyes flickered to the front corner of his desk for just a moment.

Unthinkingly.

Instead of starting in on something he walked past his chair and up to the windows behind his desk. The lights were still coming up to morning brightness and the curve of the colony laid out in front of him in the drowsy haze.

* * *

Dorothy finally tugged herself out of bed at all of the crack of ten o'clock. She must be getting better at sleeping through anything, or rather nothing, on colony. Of course, it had been a couple of late evenings in a row, plus a time difference thrown in for good measure. Poor Quatre was probably dragging at work this morning too.

She should be nicer to his sleep patterns or people were going to start getting the wrong idea.

Oh well, what else was new? She was sure that a number of people, including her 'largest' perverted fan in that office building, probably already had a few thoughts about such things. She was used to it. But she was going to lunch with Mr. Winner today in a loose pair of cotton slacks and a stately blouse, just to disappoint them all.

That, and it was the only other outfit she'd brought with her on this trip.

It was a little after eleven by the time she was presentable and repacked for the flight back. Slipping downstairs she called a goodbye to the dear little cook, and general house expert, on her way towards the front doors. It only startled the poor woman into dropping her neatly piled set of table linens.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dorothy apologized with a chuckle at the surprised hiccup of the woman.

"Missy, you shouldn't sneak up on us old-timers like that," she covered a hand over her heart as though checking to make sure it was beating in the right rhythm. "I thought you had gone yesterday."

"When I find an 'old-timer,' I'll do my best to remember that," she teased, bending to pick up the fallen placemats and napkins. "And I was rescheduled."

"Oh, you flatter me like the rest of those roughiens," she shook her head with a happy little sparkle to her eyes as she took the linens back.

"The Maguanacs?" she raised an eyebrow. "Well, I do suppose I'll have to get used to being lumped into that category."

The woman shook her head and patted her shoulder with a last smile. "No, no. You seem like such a sweet girl. No wonder the young master is so fond of you," she nodded to herself before shuffling off on her rounds again.

Sweet? Dorothy blinked after her a second before sighing to herself. 'There goes my reputation.'

* * *

"Good morning, ladies," she greeted as she closed the door behind her. The women at the two front desks both looked up to give her a hello. Making a few minutes of small talk about the success of their little party Dorothy saw Emalia pop out of Mrs. Shanelle's office with a stack of data disks in her hands.

Heading through the group the girl flashed a smile at her. Dark eyes reflected from the olive skin as her hair hung around her in a long mass of black, curly strands. She was a very pretty girl, just a couple inches shorter than her; she was a little heavier set with far more in the 'curve' department. She was down to earth and… spunky. That would be a good word for it.

Coming up to her side she caught Dorothy's eyes with a look of pure mischief before throwing a cautious look back towards the central hallway that ran to both of her superiors' doorways. "Lady Dorothy, we have a job for you," she whispered low.

The other two secretaries began giggling around them and she quickly threw them both a look. "Which is?" she asked.

Emalia scooted her around a little as best she could with her arms still full of disks. Nodding up above the door she forced Dorothy to look up, finding an innocent looking little sprig of… uh oh. "We've been trying to get him all morning," she confided. "No such luck," she giggled.

And Dorothy had to cover her laugh with a hand before she alerted him all the way in his office that she was here already. "You must be kidding," she sobered.

"Office joke," one of the other girls put in.

"Come on, Dorothy, we know you aren't shy," Emalia winked at her.

"Shy, no," she confirmed. But she wasn't stupid either. Quatre would die if she kissed him in front of everyone. The poor man would be red from hair to toes. "I do love a good conspiracy. But I couldn't," she shook her head.

"Oh," all three of them whined.

Dorothy held back her laugh at the conniving women. "What made you three come up with this anyway?"

"He brought it on himself," Emalia answered and the other two nodded with chuckles.

She raised an eyebrow at the woman beside her. "Really?"

The three spilled their story from last week to her, as quietly as possible so as to not alert the other two in the office suite. Dorothy could only wonder at the oddity of his decision. It wasn't a very Quatre-like thing to do to allow the little mistletoe, and its obvious problem-causing nature.

"Come on, Dorothy. What do you say?" Emalia asked again, her sly smile undaunted.

Throwing a specific glance up at the small piece of vine, she couldn't back down her more… No. No, she shouldn't. This was work, and the last thing that he needed here was to be undermined in front of his employees. "I can't, he would not appreciate it," she resolved herself again.

"Appreciate it?" the woman behind her laughed. "I doubt he wouldn't."

Emalia leveled her shoulders by her side as Dorothy turned a confused look to the lady. "Quit that," she shushed.

What was it with these women all thinking something was going on between them? Emalia had dug for information on the two of them at the party setup too. Considering the other two in here were married she was hopeful that not everyone had a crush on him. She realized he had the billionaire playboy looks and charm, but he really wasn't the type to have a casual fling with a secretary, or anyone for that matter.

Truthfully, he'd have to figure out how to get a date first.

She mentally chided herself for that in his defense. Quatre wasn't that bad, he just needed a little experience, something to boost his confidence around the ladies.

The other girls went on laughing about something and she threw another look at that plant. "Alright," she mumbled to herself before flashing a smile to the three, rather confused looking, women and walked off down the hallway to his office. Tossing a casual wave into Mrs. Shanelle's office on the way the older woman smiled and waved her on back.

Peeking around the corner of his doorway, she found Quatre in his chair, papers held in his lap as he lounged back, apparently lost in his thoughts with his face turned to the windows. Dorothy only mentally shook her head. The man didn't really belong behind a desk. Not this much at least. But she had faith that he'd decide when he was ready that he needed to change his work habits.

She stepped in and quietly knocked on the doorframe to get his attention. He swiveled back to look up at her. "Dorothy," he started.

She sauntered in and flashed him a smile. "Too busy to remember me this noon, Master Winner?" she teased.

"Uh, no," he looked back at the tossed piles of things on his desk for a second. "Just a lot on my mind," he confessed.

He didn't need to; she'd figured that out already. "If I'm interrupting just tell me to go away, Quatre," she instructed walking over to look out the windows.

"No. No, I don't want you to," he added hurriedly.

She curiously turned from the view again to look at him as he purposefully just dropped the papers he'd held down on top of everything else and stood up. "Are you sure?" Something seemed terribly amiss in him today.

"Yeah, no, I'm sure," he stated, turning to face her. "Let's go," he offered, forcing a smile.

And it was certainly forced. A bit shocked she stood rooted where she was and knew she was giving him a worried look.

One that he obviously saw. Dropping the act he just shook it off. "Please, let's just go."

Well, whatever it was, he wasn't going to be offering it up for discussion anytime soon. "Alright," she shrugged at him and then led them out the door. Well, whatever the trouble was she felt relatively sure that she could get his mind off of it, even if he refused to talk about it.

Dorothy paused as Quatre made a comment to Mrs. Shanelle and then deliberately eased into step behind him. Reaching the front he gave the other three ladies a pleasant goodbye and opened the door for her, as expected.

And she didn't miss a step as she moved next to him, mumbled a thank you for the door holding and leaned in and pecked a kiss on his lips before he had any chance to read her intentions. However, she was very careful to keep any view of that out of the eye of anyone who would have been passing by outside the open door. The poor man didn't need this all over the building.

Stepping back she met his eyes, wide and completely shocked. Narrowing her own she pause for effect just a second, "Mistletoe is a rather bold way of getting to know your employees better, isn't it?" Dorothy fought very hard not to crack when she heard the other three trying not to laugh out loud.

Quatre blinked at her finally before turning his eyes away to look up at the little green spring. Swallowing, he visually relaxed a little. "Well," he tried as he apparently noticed the three women still trying not to die laughing at him. "I think that maybe that isn't the most appropriate thing for the office," he took a quick look around the girls who all tried their best to look innocent.

"Oh," she purred at him. "Work can't be all boring."

He gave her a humorless chuckle and then gracefully waved her out. Dorothy followed orders and slipped through the door, but paused close enough to hear him mumble, "Please take that down," to the others.

Once they were both out and Quatre closed the door behind them, both of them managed to still hear the three burst into a roaring fit of giggles. When he turned back to catch her attention she held up both hands in surrender. "I was coerced into it, I swear."

And he broke. The chuckle started before his smile finally worked its way out. He hung his head just a second before turning and leaving her in his wake to follow.

* * *

She was evil, manipulative, deceitful, toying and inhumanly beautiful.

Somewhere in all of this Quatre had forgotten that no matter if he ever got his head wrapped around the romantic verses platonic nature of the beast or not… he still loved her. And he still loved being with her.

Dorothy sat across from him, peacefully chatting away about whatever, her face turned away from him to gaze out the window beside them. Her elbows were propped up on the table, her fingers laced to support her chin. And Quatre sat back in his chair, just happy to abandon the nagging accusations in him for a while.

He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected the slightest bit of relief from the conflicting emotions in him, but once she had shattered his nervousness about facing her again, in a way that only the Lady Catalonia could, it had been easy enough to feed all of the voices in his head to the growing desire to just be next to her.

Not that that kiss hadn't hurt, besides just surprising the crud out of him.

Quatre suspected that he was going to be finding a number of things that he had previously taken as normal that would now be difficult to deal with after this revelation. He supposed. He just really didn't know.

"But I suppose it doesn't matter," she finished, turning back to give him her trademarked smirk.

And he realized he didn't have a clue what she'd been talking about. He covered with a nod of agreement and she didn't seem to notice. Their waiter approached with their meals and he let it go, still feeling better than he had last night at least.

Dorothy moved on, asking about work and this project or that, whatever she could to keep from asking about his, apparently obvious, nervousness when she had come to his office. She was very good at these types of things, but after this long, he knew her tactics too well. It was actually fun to realize that. Part of the mark of her concern.

At least he had that much.

Quatre wasn't going to kid himself into thinking that this was somehow mutual. He understood the way her emotions worked only well enough to know that something like the things going through him now had probably never even crossed her mind.

The problem was that he didn't know if he wanted to change that or not.

If he tried and failed he would lose more than he felt he would gain if he did succeed. He was sure he would lose her. Worse, that he would hurt her in the process of losing her. And that was not an acceptable risk. His chances were far too low.

She would be the first person to remind him that he was a strategist, and it would be for the best if he dealt with this the same way he did everything. Except that this was not part of his rational side, and right now it was very difficult to keep it and his emotions talking.

No mater what conclusion he would eventually come to on what to do, he had realized how attracted he was to her. The way she spoke and chose her words depending on the person or situation. The infinite knowledge she seemed to have about everything. Her opinionated way of complimenting people. Her bossy, and yet aggravatingly always correct, attitude. Her voice. Her laughter. Her eyes.

Her eyebrows.

He'd lost it and he knew it. He even admitted it at this point. She was brazen and beautiful and had a true heart of gold for anything and anyone worthy of her concern.

She was addictively aloof, holding herself just teasingly close enough to be tantalizing but not enough to catch. It would take a courageous, or more likely foolish, man to think he could tame her. Even if it was mutual he had no doubt that the Lady Catalonia would be a wild chase and one that would never truly have a standard, peaceful ending.

Quatre wasn't about to hold his breath for a chance for that at this point. All he could take for now was to sit here next to her and know that she did, honestly, care. He wanted to have her beside him. Wanted to be attached to her. Wanted to know that she was there willingly, her affections genuine, and just because of him.

That was it. He wanted her to himself. That attack of egotism again.

Trowa had been right months ago when he'd first been hit by that idea. Quatre just wanted to believe that he was special to her. That he wasn't just the clingy, adorable, naive little boy that she found fun to tease. He wanted to mean more to her than anyone else.

That was why this had hit him after the office party, wasn't it? Sometime during it he had gotten caught up in the idea that they were together, the number of 'cute couple' comments he'd overheard going to his head. Looking back, their attire hadn't bothered him in the least all evening. If anything, it was the opposite of what he'd expected, and he knew that was only because of the visual tie he had to Dorothy. A little sign of who he belonged with. And the reciprocal of that.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to feel this way for her because of how she affected him. Was that only selfish? Was he only jumping at the first woman who knew his past, and yet still managed to care? He felt safe with her, which wasn't an easy task with his life up until now.

What if this was more about him using her instead of loving her?

Quatre tried to keep his concentration on her, and his food, and left the thoughts to the back of his head. But the accusation paused him and he slipped a look at her as she set her soupspoon down. "Dorothy?"

"Yes?" she answered looking up from her bowl.

He found her eyes for a second, "I'm sorry."

She blinked and then moved her eyes to look around them before coming back to give him a confused look. "For what?"

He turned his eyes down again from her. "I still feel like I… used you this weekend, and I want you to know that I don't mean to." He didn't ever mean to.

He heard her little sniff of a chuckle. "Sweetheart, how do you ever sleep at night worrying about things like this?" she asked. He looked up at her, surprised by the comment. Scooting her bowl back a little she reached across the table to him and he let her take his hand. "There was a reason you wanted me with you. And I told you I don't care what it was. There is a difference between making yourself feel better by having me and taking advantage of me."

He gave her a confused look and she only shook her head at him.

"Quatre I have been 'used' for any number of things in my life. You did nothing of the sort. You escorted me as chivalrously as I would expect from you and, aside from being mentally undressed by your accounting auditor, I came to no harm." She paused for affect and specifically met his eyes. "That's not using me. Besides," she tried to take her hand back, "you should know very well that I would never take offense at being of service to you."

She was right. In all of their time together, she had never taken offense to anything. He'd kissed her, twice, in a way that he knew he had no right to. He'd taken a number of leniencies with her that he had no actual entitlement to.

Again she tried to take her hand back, and then raised an eyebrow at him when he still didn't let her go. "Quatre?"

He blinked, "What do you mean 'mentally undressed'?"

Dorothy took a breath and then visually realized what she'd said, and what he had finally picked up on. "We do need to work on your ability to notice hostile verses admiring looks," she confided.

And if Quatre had believed that he had a defensive side about her before, he was almost unprepared for the rush of flame that went through him now. "Really?" he ground out.

He only half noticed her eyes widen and her expression go pale. "Uh…"

"Dorothy?" he asked, his voice low and pointed.

"It's really not that big of an issue," she whispered, very derailed by his reaction obviously.

"Tell me," he stated again, purposefully keeping the anger he felt out of his voice. At least he thought he was.

Taking a breath she paused, realigning herself again. "Quatre, honestly, he's just a classic pervert. It's nothing to get… upset about," she tried to finish as he released her hand and removed his napkin from his lap.

Taking the check from the corner of the table where it had been laid he rose to his feet. Dorothy stared up at him, visually shocked at the behavior. "I'll take care of this and be right back," he stated easily and walked off towards the lobby.

Handing the check and his credit card to the woman at the register, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called into the office, getting redirected twice.

"Human Resources, this is Tanya."

"Miss Tanya, this is Quatre Winner, is Maurice available?" he politely asked for the head of the department.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, Sir. She's gone to lunch. Can I take a message?"

"Yes," he stated signing the receipt for the register. "I am terminating Arnold Glitmier, accounting. I want his desk cleaned out and him physically escorted out of the building by the end of the day."

There was a lengthy pause at the other end of the line, and the lady that he handed the receipt back to stared at him. "Um… Sir, you want to terminate the accounting auditor right before the end of the fiscal year?" she tried to reason.

Taking a glance back into the main room where Dorothy still sat, staring into her soup bowl, he resisted the urge to tell her that, no, he wanted to throttle the miserable jerk. "End of the day, Miss Tanya," he stated bluntly.

"Yes, Sir," she hastily answered.

"Thank you," he hung up and moved back to their table. Dorothy looking up and watching him take his seat again, confused and shocked all at the same time. "Sorry," he put a smile up for her.

And she didn't buy it. "What did you do?" she blinked.

"Something I should have done last week."

* * *

He was late coming back from lunch, and he honestly didn't care. Walking in he gave the receptionists, both already back to work as well, a hello and walked on, deciding he didn't care if the mistletoe was gone or not. He passed Mrs. Shanelle's office and was immediately called back. "Mr. Winner. Maurice from Human Resources called to clarify a termination you made?" the woman gave him a funny look.

"Yes," he nodded. "Please tell her to forward the paperwork to me; I'll fill it out myself."

"OK," she responded, obviously a little off-balance by the idea.

Moving on he entered his office again and sucked in a deep breath as he stared down at his cluttered desk. He was so sick of some of these things…

Stopping himself he looked up towards the other side of the room where Davonte's painting still hung. Sandrock. It was a reminder that he didn't take lightly, as he was sure it was intended. But it was also a reminder of the woman that had given it to him… and her constant advice.

Looking over the stack of contract forms, he made a mental check and then did a sweep of the other usual items.

Turning he walked back out to Mrs. Shanelle's office and found her scratching her head at the computer screen with her pencil. Looking up she gave him a slightly worried look, and he flashed a genuine smile to reassure her. The woman was honestly too dear to him for a secretary. "When you talk to Miss Maurice please just ask her to come to my office. There are a number of things I'd like her to look into."

* * *

"You did what?" she stopped.

"I created a full-time contract assessment position under mysales vice president," Quatre clarified, waiting for her to start walking again as they moved towards the space dock's check-in gate. "And I'm going to be shuffling off a number of other tasks that I'm… tired of," he flourished.

Dorothy sat her suitcase down and stepped in, raising a hand to feel his forehead. "Open your mouth and say, 'ah,'" she instructed.

He broke a real chuckle and pulled her hand away. "I'm not sick. I've just decided that there are a number of things that just don't need my attention. I'm in the office five or six days a week and you've always told me that I don't belong there."

"And I still concur with myself," she stated. "Why all of sudden?" she asked, still looking at him like he'd lost his senses.

He shrugged, "I felt like it."

Alright, now she was worried. Shaking her head at the statement she vaguely pointed towards the ticketing counter. "I'm just going to go reschedule my flight again for some time next month and we're going to figure you out."

He chuckled at her again but shook his head. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind. But I'm fine. Once the end of the year is closed out, I'm going to start moving around again. The others will be scattered around the L2 stations and I'd like to be around that more. I have a number of other areas that need some attention finally, and it's just time for me to find my own place."

Well, that was a shock. Who knew? "But… why all of sudden?" she asked again.

Quatre softened and gave her a true smile. "I've always been an 'all or nothing' type of person."

Oh, sure, that explained it. Sighing she gave up. If he cracked and ended up trying to hide out on Mars she'd just go drag him back. "Fine," she waved it off and stepped in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly a moment. "Get out before you really do have a breakdown," she teased.

It took a little before she felt his arms move around her and hug her back. She couldn't explain why, but she had the nagging little feeling that there was something far deeper going on inside of him again. But whatever it was, he was making it apparent that he wasn't going to tell her about it.

She could be patient when she wanted to be, and for now she would be. If he starting doing something stupid then she'd get it out of him if it took a scalpel.

"Thank you," he whispered to her, moving to press her tighter to him.

Dorothy hummed at him and moved her face to nuzzle next to his ear. "You are most welcome," she purred, getting a little cringe out of him. Giggling at it she moved back from him to pick up her suitcase, along with her garment bag. "You'll have to come back when you get the chance and see the finished product."

"I will," he promised.

With bags in hand she leaned in one last time and gave him a peck on the cheek, getting a half-embarrassed smile out of him. "Take care, darling," she whispered before brushing past and walking on towards check-in.

_

* * *

_

"Show me a genuine case of platonic friendship, and I shall show you two old or homely faces." - Austin O'Malley

"You moon the wrong person at an office party and suddenly you're not 'professional' any more." – Jeff Foxworthy


	30. Chapter 30

"Revelations"  
By Isis  
Chapter 30

"Do you think there will be trouble?" Rasid asked, the gravelly voice only hinting at the wary patience the Captain possessed.

Quatre nodded to himself as he looked over the makeshift placements again. "Yes." He knew there would be. He could hear it again. Something that he hadn't in one long year. Not since the nagging insistence of the unintelligible voice that he could only define as the heart of outer space.

Rasid never really believed him when he brought up things like that, but it didn't bother him. Quatre couldn't honestly say that he understood it either. He'd simply learned to trust it. And now, it was telling him that there would be trouble. But this was nothing at all compared to MariaMaia's attempted usurpation last year.

Idly he wondered how the girl was doing now. Not that he believed she would have anything to do with such things again. He just hadn't heard anything more since her name was changed and she was placed under Commander Une's care. He'd have to ask Dorothy some time.

"What do we do?" Rasid broke into his thoughts again.

Shaking it off, he realized he'd been doing that a lot in the past couple days. Just spacing off and wondering how everyone was. Part of him needing to know they were safe, he assumed. "Nothing," he responded. "We have no way of knowing what a group could have planned. The Preventers are tracking every lead they have. We will sit tight until there is something that we can do, if it comes."

His friend rumbled with displeasure in the back of his throat.

Turning from the table, he smiled up at the man who stood with his hands behind his back frowning down at the hand drawn layout. "I know, Rasid. I don't like just waiting for it either. But Heero and Wufei have both said that there's nothing we can do, and even Oracle is in the dark. There won't be anything mass-planned this time."

Christmas Eve. Two years since the decisive battle. There were still those who would be causing trouble next week, he knew it, but he was sure that the attacks would be broad and thankfully small compared to last year.

"The Oracle network?" his friend almost scoffed. "We are trusting the criminals to finger themselves."

Quatre smiled at him despite the words. "If you remember, it wasn't all that long ago that we were those criminals."

The Oracle network of Commander Une's was known to very few people. Only the highest ranking of the Preventer Agents, and a few like himself, were given any information at all on this nameless, faceless group of people that she had personally put together to 'supply information.' Which of course meant information that could not be attained through legal means.

No one but she knew who all of the members were. Apparently it was a double-blind operation. The members themselves knew very few of their own kind. It prevented a number of leaks that way.

It had originally struck a wrong cord with Quatre when he'd first learned of it, but at the same time his 'Civilian Agent's badge' was all but the same thing. It was merely the underground moving information around. Like Rasid said, criminals fingering other criminals.

But if they hadn't turned over anything of massive proportion he felt safe with his own predictions.

"I'll see to the posts," Rasid returned, still not all that happy about the plan.

"Thank you," he returned a smile as the man headed out of the room to collect the others. Quatre waited, not moving from his chair yet. The Maguanacs would be spread out, a group here and smaller groups around each of the seven independent resource stations, giving them at least one base in each of the five Colony clusters. No one would suspect them of anything.

It would have to do.

Duo and Trowa were both on colony as well. Both planning nothing more than to be home and watchful. Heero, Wufei and Sally had assignments for the night at the Presidential speech and tree lighting ceremony. It would be the most heavily guarded area in the Earth Sphere that night. Which meant that Miss Relena and the rest of her security team would also be in the thick of it.

Those four he felt relatively secure about. Together in that area, they would be fine.

The only person he had his doubts about was the one person that he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything for.

Dorothy.

At this point, he really wished Duo would have never leaked the story of her involvement during MarieMaia's campaign to him. Now, he only worried that she'd try something that dangerous on her own again if the situation called for it.

Of course, he'd be a heartless ingrate if he chided her for her help last year. Without the crowd of civilians that she had help to mobilize and group, he wasn't sure their fight would have ended the way it did. Namely, with them still in tact.

For some reason it still bothered him that she never told him she was there. Never even really hinted at it. By now at least he would have thought that she would have gloated over 'saving' him, or something.

It was like she didn't want him to know.

But regardless of last year, she still had an unhealthy habit of wanting to be in the middle of any given crisis. Which was exactly where he didn't want her to be.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem all that concerned about what he wanted for her. Actually, she'd specifically told him that if he wanted her anywhere other than at the chateau that evening that he was going to have to forcefully remove her… and she did not plan on making that easy for him.

Needless to say, she was staying at the chateau. And he was staying here. Whether he liked it or not had nothing to do with it.

Some days it was easier to think that he really wasn't in love with her.

That wasn't a very nice thought. Chiding himself for letting it get to him he stood from his place and gathered their notes on the guys' movements. All of this would be fine, he was just sure of it. Dorothy could take care of herself, and most anyone else that she was around. He just didn't like taking the chance.

Well, that was something that he probably better get used to. She wasn't one to be told what to do. And, unfortunately for him, she always wasn't one to be begged and cajoled into it either. He was being a hypocrite anyway. The vast majority of their relationship was based on the fact that she kept throwing herself into the fray, the same way he did.

He should just be thankful that she was there and watching after the area like he was with Trowa and Duo. She was more than competent at it.

* * *

Dorothy stood primly as always, a yellow printed dress hung to about three-quarter length on her and the short, brown jacket-type sweater wrapped down her arms. Her hair fell smoothly down her back in the river of flaxen gold, tamed only by the thin headband. It had lengthened since the last time he had stood next to her, and he supposed she had gained a little in height as well.

"Nothing?" she finally responded, a slight frown marring her features as they reflected back to him from the window's glass she stood in front of. The cloudy, gray sky beyond didn't suit her, or the yellow of her dress.

Marquis Wayridge stood with his hands behind his back, admiring the young lady just a pace in front of him at the window. "I am afraid not," he replied.

The woman, this girl really, gave herself no outward signs of the changes she had been through in the past few years. Prim and reserved, she kept her razor sharp wit concealed behind the cool gray eyes now.

She wasn't always that way, he mused to himself. She used to be a fireball of a youth, never reserving her thoughts for better placements. Dorothy had been a hellion when confronted and a devil of a fighter when cornered.

Dorothy had changed as she entered womanhood. Her speech softened, her attitudes mellowed, her words were spoken with respect and forethought when asked of her. But her mind sharpened and the ray of light began to blend into the shadows as an auspicious spy.

She had ambition, power, intuition, strategy and enough arrogance to make herself noteworthy among Romafeller. She was her father, wrapped neatly into the beauty and elegance of her mother and hidden away now.

The Marquis let the weary smirk enter his face at the thoughts. Precious child. For those whom much has been given, much is required.

"Then we have nothing to offer," she continued, her hands still placidly held together in front of her.

"It is a good thing that we have found nothing to report," he reasoned to her.

"Yes, you're right," she agreed, the frown erasing easily. "However, it leaves us with very little to do," she turned just enough to look up at his height and give him a tiny smile.

"We are not worthless as yet," he reminded her with a smile of his own. She nodded with a mild chuckle and turned back to watch the clouds. "Well, my dear Lady, would you favor an old man with tea?" he asked instead, turning and walking towards his office desk where the silver tea set was already laid.

"Marquis," she chided from her place. "I gain a title and suddenly you seem to think you need to flatter me."

"I do so genuinely. And not for anything relating to your title," he defended as he sat down behind his desk and began to move the teacups.

"Well, you would be the first," she quietly scoffed as she swept back and laid a feather of a touch over his hand on the teapot's handle. "Allow me."

He grudgingly removed his hand and allowed her the guise of not being such an 'honored' guest amid his house. Carefully taking the thing she poured their cups, his first, and set it back on the tray before seating herself on the other side of his desk. "I am most certainly not the first," he refuted. "However, I'd like to think I am the greatest," he chuckled.

She humored him with a giggle of her own, a rarity he knew, before adding a touch of cream to her tea. "Thank you," she graciously responded before her eyes narrowed at him. "Even though I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want," he waved it off. "But you have planted yourself quite well, and your scrupulous adversaries are going to have a thorny time digging you out."

Dorothy stopped her cup just before it reached her lips and looked over the rim of it at him a second before lowering it again. "Is there something you're trying to tell me with that, Marquis?"

Brilliantly intuitive. "You're stirring things again, my dear," he gave her a little smile in good humor.

Sighing, she didn't bother to cover her annoyance. "What is it now? The color of my new drapes?"

He smiled again at the arrogant ribbing of their standards. "No, but I do hear that your house has been… man-handled."

She gave a laugh at that before sipping her tea. "Yes, yes. I'm well aware of the rumors that I'm keeping far too close of company with a group of virile workingmen."

"That isn't the rumor that I took any heart in," he slowly shook his head.

Once again the Lady lowered her cup, this time her eyes scrutinized him, automatically moving him from ally to enemy. No, she was far from the tempered, dangerous youth he had once known. In the past four or five years she had become truly lethal.

"Enlighten me," she challenged with a raised, forked eyebrow. Her mother's family trait.

"You have been keeping the company of someone far more dangerous than just your 'remodeling crew.'"

Her eyes only darkened, any look of amusement that she typically held during discussions of this sort was forgotten. "Dangerous to whom?"

The Marquis raised his cup to take a moment to lighten the mood, sipping slowly. "To you, mostly," he finally replied. "Those who know wonder at your motives. Those who don't wonder at your loyalties."

"That's an awful lot of wondering for such small minds," she snipped, finally unpinning him from her gaze.

He chuckled with a nod to her. "I figured you would say as much."

"What else should I say?" she returned, surprising him.

He curiously looked back at her as she delicately stirred her tea again, soundlessly as the spoon never touched the bottom of the cup. Lifting it from the liquid, she tapped it with her finger twice, ensuring that she didn't touch the rim with it, lest she do something that may tarnish the fine gold line of the lip. Laying it aside in her saucer, there was no clink as she made a slight roll of her spoon as it set down.

The care that she was trained to was exceptional, even on the least little thing like preserving an antique teacup. She was meticulous in everything.

And he was a great fan of her cunning and calculation. Even more than her grandfather before her, this Lady, this Duchess—even though the title would never be hers—was the apex of what Romafeller could have been.

Why then, was she taking the chances she was?

Dispensing with the usual careful word-games they were both raised with he allowed his curiosity for the girl before him. She was much more than a player in this league to him. Dorothy was as much family to him as she had been to Duke Dermail. He had always had a fond spot for her.

"Some are worrying about one of us becoming too personally attached."

"Fraternizing with enemy?" she turned those mischievous eyes up to him again, her smirk rising. "Tell me, would they rather that I not see him, or that I at least bug his pillow for them while I'm at it?"

She chuckled, but he did not find the insinuation the least bit funny. "Miss Dorothy," he mildly chided her.

She closed her eyes and took a sip of her tea again. "Marquis, my motives are none of anyone's concern but my own. I take all of my duties personally, regardless of which we may be talking about. The others may have their room to complain when I have done something out of line."

The reminder was true to her character, but it did little for him. "I could not agree more," he nodded. Dorothy obviously did not expect that as she raised her eyes to him again. "I too feel my stake in this is personal, as you well know," he nodded to her.

"Why the show of concern then?" she inquired, curiously watching him.

He smiled at her, knowing she had figured out the ploy of a concerned old man for her. "I assume that he is being gentlemanly, despite the notorious opportunist we know he is," he teased her shamelessly before taking a drink of his tea.

"Dreadfully civil," she sighed in return, leaning back just a bit in her chair. "He's actually a terrible bore."

The Marquis laughed wholeheartedly at her. "Even this one's a bit too dry for your palate?" he chuckled again.

"Yes, but I do forgive him for it," she smiled and sipped her tea.

"Oh?" he returned it, happy that she was sharing. "Do I need to pity the poor lad, yet?"

"Pity all of my friends, Marquis," she answered, raising those gray-violet eyes to pin him again. "Yourself included."

He shook off her gaze with a good-natured nod. He had wondered what extent she had taken this to and he believed he had his answer. It would be time to begin then. May the Duke forgive him while he rested in peace… he was sure that his friend would not be resting so well soon enough.

"Then there is another matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Go on," she set her cup down to listen.

"Our dear Miss Relena Darlian," he smiled.

Dorothy blinked, immediately attentive. "What of her?"

"The Minister and Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs still have an election to win come next November."

She nodded slowly, knowing that Miss Relena and her running mate were already well into campaigning for re-election as she had run out of time filling Mr. Darlian's place. "I thought it was decided we were not taking sides?" she questioned quietly. "Their opponents have shown no malice that I've been informed of."

He chuckled again and shook his head at her. "Always the conspirator. No, no, my dear. I was thinking much more along our own lines. I am proposing that we host an official fundraising reception for her."

Dorothy stopped a bit shocked. "Here?"

"Why not?" he waved a hand towards the window. "You are a known supporter to her, as am I. I think it would be marvelous to show that."

"Marquis, that may not be beneficial to her. The public doesn't like the remnants of Romafeller. You are more aware of that than I am. Are you suggesting we grease them both up by merely walking in here?" she raised an eyebrow again.

"Lady Catalonia," he refuted, "we were the ones that introduced the girl to the world. Surely any damage that could be done is already. Besides, there is no longer a true Foundation. This is merely a collection of individuals who hold the same ideals now."

Dorothy hummed to herself as she scrutinized her teacup a moment. "Give her a check and give ourselves to the world as the good guys," she paraphrased. "I'm still not sure I like the idea," she answered. "Our reputations have not been cleaned."

"You have been overly-concerned with that for some time," he poked at her inner thoughts. "It's a perfectly valid idea. And I believe we are the two to pull this together."

"Why is that?"

Again he smiled at her. "Because I have always been reported as a staunch supporter for her, and you are the new generation. To an outsider you have none of the former beliefs, and this is the perfect chance to show that she can appeal to anyone."

"I don't know how well I depict the naïve new-comers. Dermail is still used like a four-letter word most of the time."

She was disgusted with it and he couldn't blame the child. Although he would never consider her innocent, she did not deserve the torture that the public inflicted upon her family name. "But you have your charms," he smiled easily.

Dorothy raised her eyes to look at him until his smile caused her to break a chuckle. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Marquis."

"I intend it too," he nodded. "Us old men can't rely on our looks anymore."

* * *

"Do you think it's a good idea?" the voice questioned thoughtfully from the other end of the phone line.

"I'm not sure at this point. But, like I said, Marquis Wayridge is convinced. And if he is, so are a lot of others," Dorothy offered.

Relena seemed to pause to think it over. "Well, I can certainly bring it to the Minister. No harm in that. Heero's going to go all dark and glaring though. The idea of being plunked down in the center of Romafeller country is going to irritate him."

"Well, your escort will have to be more restrained than usual," she mused to her.

"Escort? Right. The first time I get him to take my arm in public I'm going to faint on the spot."

"Swooning already, Miss Relena?" she teased. The other only sighed at her. Moving on she shrugged, "Well, you have a while to decide, and a few months to get him warmed to the idea."

"Alright. Please do give my regards to Marquis Wayridge when you see him again. It's been a long time."

"I will," she brushed it off. "Where will you be tomorrow night, Relena?" she asked slowly, staring out the window at the light dripping of rain as the evening finally came.

"The Presidential tree lighting. Don't tell me you're nervous too," she sounded worried.

"Not nervous. Just cautious," Dorothy corrected.

"Alright," she drawled, as she apparently didn't get the difference. "Are you with Quatre?"

Dorothy blinked at the growing twilight. "No, I'm at the chateau. Why would I be with him?"

There was a moment of silence, "I just assumed… I don't know. I just figured you would be," she tried.

"Really? Why?"

Again there was a slight pause, "No reason. Heero just mentioned that he and the Maguanacs would be on the watch too. I just figured you'd be in the middle of it with him—them."

She rolled her eyes at the slip. Yes, the guys would be on the watch. Quatre had invited her to stay with them, earnestly, more than once. "My place is here," she told her the same thing.

"Fine. But no charging your rescue missions to me this time. Any outlandish life saving you do this year is at your own expense," she giggled.

"The price of patriotism," Dorothy shook her head. "Very well. Good evening, Miss Relena."

"Goodnight, Dorothy. Don't do anything I wouldn't," she teased.

"Why stop now?" she smirked.

* * *

Eight. Eight unforeseen attacks on civilian and independent buildings or groups.

Quatre stood beside the coffee table in his entertainment room, following the images of the destruction reported by the media groups around the areas only half-heartedly, a hand mindlessly rubbing his thumbnail over his lips.

Vaguely he noted one of the others shift and blinked back his own thoughts enough to turn a slow look over the room. Fourteen of the Maguanacs were with him here, doing nothing but watching the reports come in as well.

He pulled his hand away from his face and slowly sank down to sit on the arm of the sofa next to Rasid. There was nothing that they could do. Many of the incidents were already dealt with. A small riot in L2 was brought to order after the mob tried to set fire to an embassy building. It wasn't a pretty scene, but no one was reported to have been harmed any worse than scraps and bruises. Another mob was apprehended in L5 for blockading a major overpass and attempting to hold the motorists hostage.

The major attack though would take some time to figure out and return to normal. The aerial shots of the area showed a giant pile of ruble where a newly constructed hospital had sat only hours ago. It was less than three blocks from the Presidential mansion where the tree lighting ceremony had taken place just before the blast went off.

The ceremony that Relena, Heero, Wufei and Sally were at.

The reports were that those at the party were allowed to leave at their leisure, no one believing that they were being targeted as well. Quatre agreed. It would be stupid of an attacking party to try anything on the distinguished guests now with everyone in the world surrounding that area.

Of course, they obviously weren't dealing with true masterminds here.

He was still resisting the urge to call Heero or Wufei and ask if there was anything he could do, but he knew there wouldn't be. The two more than likely had their hands full anyway.

But the atmosphere in the room hung heavy and unnatural around them as the men forced themselves to stay put. He hated this feeling as much as they did.

And he hated it more that the worry hadn't left him.

* * *

Dorothy stood with her hands still holding the forgotten teacup as the television cast the only light into her office. Her satellite phone, set purposefully on her desk, rang for attention behind her, bringing her from her thoughts as she turned to look down at the thing.

She knew who it was, and that he would have no more answers than she did, but she moved to answer it anyway. "Catalonia," she responded into it.

"Lady, is there anything new?" the elder, but refined voice asked through the earpiece.

"Nothing," she responded.

"Any contact from the Colonies?"

She narrowed her eyes at the insinuation but ignored it for the sake of their current plight. "I have not spoken to anyone there. I will alert you if I know differently."

"Of course. Thank you," he responded and hung up.

Dorothy very slowly moved the phone from her ear and closed it to disconnect again as her hand unthinkingly dropped to her side. The television showed the mass of material left from the demolished hospital near the capital. It would do no one any good for her to be there either.

Instead she placed her teacup down on the desk, feeling hollow and very alone in the little interior room of the chateau.

First the network is oppressive enough to scorn her involvement with one of the 'protected.' Obviously concerned over the idea that she was a traitor in waiting. Not only did they disregard Quatre's own status among them, but they assume that she was could jeopardize the association between them with some sort of blind pillow talk. But then they had the audacity to think that that should work both ways. That since she was involved anyway that she should be sucking information from him and feeding it back to them.

Petty insecurities. Would she never be rid of them?

The Marquis had not asked because of that. Dorothy knew the man better than that. He had only brought the concerns up to her to make her cautious. And his question now was more than likely an honest reflection of her own admission to him yesterday. She had made her case that she would not be bullied by rumors. And in such, had confessed that Quatre meant more to her than that.

Wayridge had seen it, she knew he did. Truthfully he must have suspected it even before he ever brought Quatre up. The man knew her too well, and knew that she would not take this sort of chance on just anyone.

He would understand. The Marquis was a true noble and looked very favorably on all of the gundam pilots and an assortment of the others made famous to them during the war.

She shouldn't be taking offense to this.

The phone in her hand rang again and her instinct was to ignore it. She had nothing else to tell anyone and nothing to do.

But duty called, no matter what, and she picked it up and opened it. Only to find the ID listed and available. "Hello," she hastily answered.

"Hello, Dorothy," Quatre's quiet voice responded. "I'm assuming that you're watching the news."

For some reason she couldn't name she relaxed at the sound of his voice and found herself slumping down to sit on top of her desk. "Yes, I am."

"Is everything alright there? Aside from the hospital. That's the closest problem area to you, isn't it?" he asked, obviously a little anxious but trying very hard not to sound like it.

She smiled despite herself. "I haven't decided to call out the army and declare a new war yet, if that's what you're asking," she teased.

There was a sigh from his end. "Good to hear," he shot right back at her.

"You and the guys are all right?" she questioned into the gap that floated into the conversation.

"We're all fine. There doesn't seem to be anything for us to do either."

"Well, I suppose we should be thankful," she reasoned standing again and turning to the television screen and the reports of the, thankfully still unused, hospital building that had been leveled. "This could have been far worse."

"You're right," he responded. Again a pause drew out between them but Dorothy barely noticed as she stood glued to the images presented to her. "Well, I just wanted to check in with you," Quatre finally broke through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she shook it off. "I'm a little displaced tonight."

"No, it's alright," he soothed. "I understand. Goodnight, Dorothy."

"Good afternoon, Quatre," she smiled.

Hanging up she paused and looked down at her phone. No, he didn't understand. And if she could help it, he never would.

* * *

Quatre hung up his phone and tucked it back into this pocket along with his hands. He stood in the corner of his office beside the closed door. The guys hadn't thought anything of him slipping out of the downstairs entertainment room for a while, but they would wonder if he didn't go back soon.

But still he took a minute and closed his eyes, laying his head back against the wall. She was fine. Safe and sound. Why did he still have this nagging doubt?

* * *

"Conversation has a kind of charm about it, an insinuating and insidious something that elicits secrets just like love or liquor." – Seneca

AN: The conversation with Dorothy and Marquis Wayridge was intentionally left to be a little… unclear. We'll get to that eventually. Those of you reading "Realizations" as well already knew what to expect from the Christmas Eve attacks, but I wanted to fill in the gaps a little. :)


	31. Chapter 31

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 31

Lady Dorothy Catalonia clicked obnoxiously down the smooth tile floor of the main lobby of Wientonmier and Kurchoff Security Company. Innocently taking off her sunglasses with her free hand, she once again tried to ignore the way her hair tickled the back of her legs as she moved in the overly short skirt.

She'd been avoiding that haircut for too long she decided because she either had to cut it or wear longer skirts. And today that wasn't an option.

Clad in a double-breasted skirt suit, she wore no shell or blouse but still revealed next to nothing up front. But her straight skirt had been rolled up twice at the waist and safety-pinned, revealing more than she usually cared to of her, freshly lotion coated, legs. Her feet were strapped into three-inch heels, which she realized she wasn't used to wearing anymore.

If she needed a quick get-away, however, they were easily removed, but they were going to pinch her toes if this took too long.

But still she walked, one swaying click-clack at a time as she approached the woman behind the reception desk, who didn't look all that enthused about greeting her. "May I help you?" she finally responded when Dorothy was close enough.

"Lady Catalonia here to see Mr. Wientonmier," she announced herself, placing her sunglasses and her hand on her hip.

"Of course. Please take the elevator to floor thirteen, the receptionist will take you from there," she directed with a finger towards the elevators.

"Thank you." Leaving her behind, she took a quick look around the nearly empty lobby as she moved to the elevators. Exactly as the blueprints had listed it.

Getting into one of the two elevators, she pressed in her floor and then tucked one arm of her glasses into the front of her attaché case. Using one of the more reflective surfaces, she checked her lipstick in it and fluffed her hair once or twice.

She had been on camera even before she greeted the outside security guard who moved a wand over her to determine that she had nothing on her that could be a weapon or transmitting device. Of course, the man had spent a little more time checking over her bare legs than he did any other place. Like her thick, black headband for instance.

Looking innocently around her, she took the gum out of her mouth and tossed it into the little trashcan set in the corner of the elevator before it beeped her floor and she stood ready to disembark as the doors opened for her.

Stepping out, the receptionist looked up at her and gave her a once over before finding her polite smile again. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Lady Catalonia, here to see Mr. Wientonmier," she repeated.

"Yes, he's expecting you." She rose and led her back towards the office doors behind the large receiving area. Knocking, the lady stepped in and announced her before Dorothy moved through the doors and into the deluxe office.

Mr. Wientonmier, true to her intelligence, was a short, plump man balding on top and approaching fifty rather quickly. Currently he was moving back from his personal putting green laid out in the far corner of the long, open office, club still in hand.

With a smile Dorothy waved him to stop. "Please, don't let me interrupt your practice," she softly stated as the click-clack of her heels on the floor continued forward slowly. Casually she dropped her case into one of the chairs in front of his desk in the middle of the room. "I would never want to be accused of raising a man's handicap."

The man found his voice again in order to chuckle heavily. "Well now, Lady Catalonia, it wouldn't be very professional of me to keep you waiting."

"Not at all," she disagreed. "I have already read through your contract proposal. All I have are a few lingering questions really."

Dumbfounded the man nodded absently as she stepped up to him, towering about five inches over him in her heels, as she wanted to be. "Uh… do you play, Lady?" he asked with a dopey grin coming to his face.

"Not very well, unfortunately," she smiled. "No time to practice my swing, it seems." Leaning down to him just a little she inspected the club he was still carrying. "With a setup like this, you must be a very good putter," she purposefully dipped only an ounce into her sultry airs.

"Well, I don't like to brag," he grinned up at her, his chest swelling just a little in spite of his words.

"Modesty," she cooed, raising an eyebrow and pinning his eyes with hers. "I like that in an associate." Looking back down she reached out a hand and stroked a finger down the length of the club's handle between his hands. "What do you like?" she asked and then waited a second for him to raise his eyes back up from her move to look at her. "For drivers?" she clarified.

"Uh…. Well, um, there are a lot of good brands. Actually, I make my own," he managed to smile again and swallow. "I can balance them for someone my height better that way," he tried to joke.

And she giggled for his benefit. "Hands-on type of man." She smiled again and gave him just a hint of a mischievous look. "I like that in an associate too." Turning away she moved past him a few paces to inspect his putting green.

Dorothy heard him take a breath and turn to focus his attention on her. Moving smoothly she stepped out to look at the little green-carpeted framework complete with a set of shallow ramps on two sides along with four different straight shots to the various eight holes. It was like a mini golf course replica.

Her interest in the thing was actually a bit more enthusiastic than she would have thought, but not enough to have missed the sound of a whistle of air from him as her move parted her legs and leaned her over only slightly, but enough to move her hair out of the way and draw attention to herself.

Even standing and, almost modestly, still covered she figured it had to be a male instinct to prefer the idea of an open set of legs. "Is this something you made yourself too?" she asked before turning slowly to look at him again.

The man was better than she thought because if he had been staring at her legs like she suspected, he didn't show it through the smile he wore by the time she looked back at him. "Yes. My own design. I have a small woodworking shop at home."

"That must keep you busy," she flattered.

"It's a hobby," he nodded happily.

Well, something had to keep the guy busy she assumed, considering he'd just finished divorce number three from a much younger little starlet. Also a longhaired blond, she had noted defensively.

She hated to be typecast into her roles.

"Quite the hobby," she applauded. "But now I know you're far better than I am," she smiled and looked down at the Swiss-cheese layout. "You probably never miss your intended target." Dorothy had to keep staring at the thing in front of her or she would have burst out laughing at her own choice of words.

"Oh no, I do. That's why I practice," he chuckled walking up and levering himself down to fish a ball out of one of the center holes. "Would you like a shot?" he asked.

Dorothy had actually played croquet more times in her life than she had held a golf club. Which wasn't much. But considering the man in front of her, she assumed that he would be more than helpful about giving her a little lesson.

Sigh. It was a good thing that the male gender didn't have any more brain cells between them than they did, or her job would be a lot harder.

"Will you charge me more if I lose?" she giggled to cover her thoughts.

"Never," he solemnly promised her with a grin.

Stepping forward she took the club from him as he placed the ball down for her on one of the straight shots. "Duty and service" could be damned though as she kept her legs tightly together while his eyes were anywhere near that level. But to his credit, he didn't try to sneak a peek up her skirt.

Rather righteous for a cradle-robbing divorcee. How nice, she mused to herself.

Stepping up to the ball, she positioned her feet at shoulder's width apart, and took what she hoped was a passable grip on the short club. "I don't think I'm dressed for the occasion," she teased as a soft beep sounded almost mutely in her ear.

_Halfway there_, she thought to herself.

"Probably not," he chuckled as well.

Lining up the ball, she aimed, moved the club and smacked it, missing by a mile as it rolled down the other side of the setup and stopped itself against the glass of the building's side windows. She laughed at herself and tried to appear blushing as the man roared out a laugh of his own.

After another four attempts, and a little well-guided instruction that she was going to need a shower after, another beep sounded in her ear and she graciously handed the putter back to him. "Thank you, Mr. Wientonmier, but I shouldn't take up all of your time trying to correct my bad play."

"Oh, not at all, Lady Catalonia. Someday maybe I'll get you out of those clothes," he teased for exactly two heartbeats before he caught up with that sentence. "…And we can play together." It took an instant longer for him to catch that one too. "…In something more comfortable. …For you, of course. …On a course," he chuckled nervously at himself before his large, porous nose started to turn red.

Dorothy did her best not to die laughing on the spot, but she smiled anyway. "Well, if your company gets this job, I do hope that maybe we could arrange that."

"Well then, back to business are we?" he asked, still flustered.

"Actually, Mr. Wientonmier, I have what I came for already," she stated, turning and walking out of the slightly squishy "grass" and back onto the tile flooring.

"Uh… you do?" he asked.

"Yes," she turned to smile back at him. "I enjoy knowing the companies that I work with, especially when it comes to my home's personal security. The purpose of my visit today was much more to meet with you than it was to discuss the trivialities. A woman wants to feel safe," she lowered her voice just a notch.

"Well, I assure you that we always do our best, and we stand behind our work," he puffed up again. "I am curious as to why you're looking into our firm when we are such a long way from your chateau?"

Darn it. She stalled just a second as she moved to her case and pulled out a folded tissue. "That is precisely why I am looking into your company," she lied, delicately wiping at her nose. "I have a number of very privileged items of great importance to me that are kept in my home, and of value to a number of area individuals. Anyone local would know that, and I just don't feel like taking the chance."

"Ah," he grinned again. "Very smart of you."

"Thank you."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Catalonia." Reaching out she allowed him her hand and he bent to kiss it. "I do hope it won't be the last time we see each other."

Wadding the tissue up she glanced around for a wastebasket and he quickly pointed her to one at the side of his desk. "You too, Mr. Wientonmier. Please, have a nice day." Turning, she picked up her case from the chair in front of them and walked towards the door. "I will inform your representative of my decision in a few days."

"Thank you," he responded as he beat her to the door and held it for her.

Flashing him a last smile she exited the office and greeted the receptionist as she called for an elevator again, specifically calling the one she didn't ride up in. Getting on she selected the lobby once more and rummaged through her case for another stick of gum, unwrapping it she tossed the wrapper into the other little trashcan in the corner.

With a production of click-clacks all the way out the doors, she replaced her sunglasses and gave the guard a flattering smile before descending the steps and heading off down the street.

A block away she stopped in front of a coffee shop on the corner and walked in. She off-handedly ordered herself two lattes and a cup of regular coffee, and then walked out the side door facing the other street with a patio in the back. Sitting down at one of the tables, she handed the coffee to the man there with his laptop closed in front of him and the chocolate latte to the lady with him. "You're good," he commented.

Slipping the sunglasses off, she folded them and set them down on the table, making sure that they were set in the line-of-sight of the infrared data port as she swirled her own caramel latte. "Aren't I though?" she smirked.

* * *

"All three microphones were placed and I got a copy of everything we could possibly suck off of his hard drive and network through the infrared."

She nodded to herself as her computer scanned through folder after folder of information.

"The agent also said to tell you that any password cracks should start with golfing related words."

And then she smiled as she finished scrolling through the data presented to her. "Excellent work. Stay with it and send the agent home."

"Of course, Commander."

Sitting back farther in her chair, she disconnected the call before she turned to gaze out the window behind her. She would make any and every effort to find and bring down the instigators that demolished the new hospital. It had been most of a month already, but she refused to back down her search without exhausting every lead.

All she needed was the right team.

* * *

"Mr. Winner. Call for you. A, Miss Une."

Quatre stopped his scrutiny of the computer screen and blinked at his desk phone, his pen still held between his teeth. "Une?" he tried to question before removing it.

"Yes, Sir."

Snatching the thing out of his mouth he tossed it down on the desk. "Thank you," he responded before noting the vid-line and calling it up on his computer screen. Sure enough the face that popped up in front of him was one that he hadn't seen in more than a year, if that meeting could have even been considered one. "Commander Une, hello."

"Hello, Mr. Winner," she responded with a smile. "May I interrupt you a moment?"

"Of course," he responded.

"I have an officer on his way to your office with a packet of information. It is for your eyes only, and should remain that way," she still seemed calm, and rather casual.

That didn't stop the knot in his stomach from tightening. "I understand."

"There is some information in the package that I would like your help with. What and how much you offer is at your discretion," she nodded slightly.

"Of course," he nodded to her, understanding full well what that meant.

"I appreciate whatever you can offer," she stated easily. "I only wanted to make you aware of the situation. Thank you for your time, Mr. Winner," she smiled.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he responded. "I will be sure to give it my full attention."

"I'm sure you will," was the last thing she said before the line disconnected.

That was weird.

* * *

True to her word, the lobby called him about ten minutes later with a visitor, described as a friend. Quatre pretended to know the name of the man in question and asked them to lead him up.

The Preventers officer was not in uniform and was shown into his office in a casual manner. Quatre welcomed him, shook his hand and closed the door behind him. "This is a safe area," he commented first as he waved the man to have a seat.

"Thank you. I was told that you would be cooperative," the man easily stated, opening the small briefcase he had with him. "I'm only the delivery boy today, but you may as well know I'm part of the team you're dealing with." Pulling out an unsuspicious manila envelope, he passed it over the desk as Quatre took a seat behind it. "In the following information I am referred to as 'Duck' and my partner is 'Goose.'"

Quatre paused and raised an eyebrow as the man gave a hiccup of a chuckle.

"Started as a bad joke," he explained. "So of course, it stuck."

Smiling, Quatre took the package and opened the envelope. "What are you hoping that I can do for you with this?"

"Information mainly," the man shrugged. "Truth be told, I'm not sure why the Commander picked you out. I was rather leery about coming to a civilian with this, but she assured me you were as trustworthy as 'Delilah.'"

"Delilah?" he asked, pulling out a collection of folders and three data disks.

"The infiltrator," he responded. "We're leg work, she's legs," he laughed.

Glancing at some of the papers in front of him, Quatre noted some of the names and undercover operations. He also noted a serious lack of… credible legal notations. "What exactly am I looking at?"

The man smiled, obviously understanding the question. "Something that isn't supposed to be here."

Quatre nodded, "That's why you're asking the help of a civilian."

"Two or three of you," he responded. "This is the fifth such operation we've undertaken. Supposedly you have had contact with the suspects before. We need anything you can give us. My partner and I will be on this constantly. 'Delilah' may or may not be called back in. We never know. Apparently the Commander doesn't like the idea of risking her unnecessarily."

"So you need intel to narrow the risk," he explained more to himself than to him. "I understand. I will see what I can do."

Staring down at the sheet in front of him, Quatre had to wonder exactly what that would be. Getting into this was going to be a mildly personal matter.

_Suspect Associates: Arthur Nickels, Jesimae Nickels._

* * *

"Duck" and "Goose" were two busy little critters. Quatre mentally renamed them "Mole" and "Snake" after reading through the operations reports. Four jobs, done meticulously with infinite care for details, and the two had never so much as got an eye batted in their direction.

Intelligence gathering was one thing, but doing it illegally with no back up should something be caught, was another. At least for Preventers officers it was.

The whole thing sat wrong with him. Even this long after the war the legal system was still being played, badly, like a violin. But it did eliminate truly innocent people from being fingered and thrown in before a court of law unnecessarily. It also gave the Preventers a _convenient_ starting place when looking for clues to grant them a legal search warrant.

Who was he to denounce them?

Regardless of the attack of conscience, the reports read like a spy novel. Two ops were completed alone between the two leads on these assignments. Simple in and outs, a faked maintenance crew or maid service, a few microphones here and there, a couple copied disks, nothing someone resourceful couldn't handle.

The other two however required this agent codenamed "Delilah." The first mission was to infiltrate and distract while Duck snagged a peek at a listing of work orders and blueprints connected to the demolition of the hospital next to the Capital on Christmas Eve.

Actually, this entire mission seemed to be connected to that and he began to understand why Commander Une was taking the risks she was. This little plot was a lot farther-reaching than any in the outside sphere knew about.

The forth op. was for the security company who had supplied the system for the hospital building. Wientonmier and Kurchoff. The best-kept place of interest this team had come up against so far, with three weeks worth of setup and research.

A security screening at the front door would eliminate any and all methods of wirelessly relaying information out of the building, and security cameras placed in all but one room made infiltration impossible.

Instead, the team had called in this Miss Delilah, and had literally stolen the entire company's network data during a round of putt-putt golf with one of the partners in full view of the cameras and anyone who was watching. Not only that, but she had planted a microphone in the partner's office as well as both elevators.

How she had managed to keep an earpiece and an active infrared port a secret from the security doorman, he couldn't figure out. The microphones were recording, not broadcasting, so as long as no one knew they were there, the group simply had to pick them out of the garbage at the end of the week when the usual maintenance crew threw them out.

Brilliant.

So brilliant in fact that it made Quatre call his own company's security measures into question. Of course, any information of vital importance to a potential terrorist organization, or an undercover Preventers network, would more than likely be nowhere but inside his own head.

But there was still something very strange about this Delilah. Quatre couldn't figure out why her movements nagged at him. Aside from the actual physical work there was no mention of her other tactics. The reports simply didn't hold that much information.

Regardless, the next target for this group was Nickels Refinery, and as such, it was concentrating on Mr. and Miss Nickels themselves. He didn't believe the two were guilty of anything. Gut instinct aside, he just didn't see enough of a profit for them to exploit something like this.

The refinery company received the bid to clean up the massive portion of the decimated area. That in itself wasn't something that would call them into consideration for involvement. But the fact that they also had a security system by the same company did make a convenient correlation.

It was a lead and they were tracking it. Nothing more.

And Quatre was, also, a convenient in-man for the assignment. Winner Enterprises' new contract with them gave him a working knowledge of both Nickels, and a likely excuse for gathering intelligence on them. He was also unaffiliated with the Preventers as far as anyone knew, and someone that both sides were willing to trust.

The question now was how far did he want to go with them?

* * *

Jesimae Nickels sat in her office, faking the best smile that she could as she listened to one of the salesmen go on and on about the new account that he had for her to look through. The man was sweet, but after three minutes her eyes were starting to water from the potent fumes of his cologne. Trying very hard not to cough she nodded as he finally handed off the folder to her and she thanked him with a smile again.

The office receptionist tapped on the door to get their attention, and Jesimae flashed her a "save me" look when the man turned around.

"Jesimae, Mr. Winner is on the phone for you."

_Oh, that man could save me any day,_ she mentally quipped to herself. "Sorry, Mac. I have to take this," she half-heartedly apologized.

"Yip, yip. Time for me to hit the road anyway," he chuckled to himself as he managed an arm around the poor receptionist's shoulders. "How you doing, kid?" he asked her.

"Fine, Mac. How are you?" she responded, as they all did.

"Great! If I was any better, I'd have to be a twin," he laughed as they left her office.

Jesimae rolled her eyes at the five hundredth time she'd heard that line. Picking up the phone instead she waved a hand to try to clear her nose of the cologne. "This is Jesimae, how may I help you?" she smiled in anticipation.

"Hello, Miss Jesimae. This is Quatre Winner. Am I interrupting?" his voice sounded over the line.

She wondered vaguely why he wasn't using a vid-line, but shrugged it off as her smile grew. "Not at all," she gushed. "What may I do for you?" _Or to you?_ she mentally added.

"I'm going to be checking in with my number three Resource Station next week, and since I was in the area, I was wondering if maybe I could take you up on that tour of your facility?"

She didn't remember offering him a tour of the plant, but her future billionaire husband could have a look at anything he liked as far as she was concerned. "Of course! I would love for you to come. Father will be away next week, if that doesn't deter you, I'd be happy to show you around. And I do owe you dinner," she lowered her voice just a notch in invitation.

There was a light chuckle from him. "I think I can arrange that. Will Tuesday work for you?"

"Tuesday would be wonderful, I usually have most of that day free anyway," she lied.

"Great. I will see you sometime in the afternoon then. I'm sorry I can't be more specific."

"Not at all. I'll be delighted to see you again."

"Thank you. Until next week then, Miss Jesimae. Goodbye," he closed.

"Goodbye, Quatre," she hung up, and then sighed happily to herself.

"Good news?" the receptionist asked, coming into her office again, having shaken Mac apparently.

Jesimae wiggled her eyebrows at the other woman with a smirk. "I'm taking this as a very promising sign." The other looked at her a little oddly, but she dismissed it. "By the way, I need help rescheduling anything I have for next Tuesday."

A loud laugh was heard from the front portion of the office.

Exchanging looks with the other woman she shook her head. "Mac included," she half-grumbled.

* * *

"Tuesday afternoon," he reported. "I was assured that Mr. Nickels would be gone, it should make it easier."

"Nicely done," the man smiled. "Delilah won't need much. As long as you keep Jesimae occupied, she'll be in and out without anyone thinking anything of it."

* * *

"The curve is more powerful than the sword." – Mae West

Beta read by: Random Pixy.  
Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	32. Chapter 32

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 32

"Mr. Winner. I am delighted to see you again," she smiled, extending her hand over her desk to him.

Quatre smiled and shook Jesimae's hand easily. "Thank you for having me. I figured I don't get out this way that often, and it was too close to pass up."

"I'm simply happy that you're interested."

As bubbly as usual, Miss Nickels was positively glowing. The two-tone of her emerald eyes sparkled back to him, picking up color from the mint of her casual blouse. The square neckline lowered a little more than he would normally associate with office attire, but this wasn't his company. Her black skirt rode a little high too, but was worn over black tights as she stepped around her desk towards him.

"I'm always up for seeing another company in action," he stated, hoping that he could honestly pull this off.

"Well, shall we begin?" she asked with a wave towards the doorway.

"After you," he motioned cordially.

With a giggle and another huge smile she led the way and he followed behind, the wireless camera imbedded in the pen cap tucked in his shirt pocket hopefully picking up anything someone might need to clear these two of their supposed involvement.

Jesimae had her long trail of her strawberry blond hair down, pulling only her sides back from her face. The mass of curls spiraled down to her waist. It was easy enough to follow along as she escorted him around the plant, from the recycling loads to the production facilities.

It was interesting, and honest enough to waylay his nerves at having lied to her. The plant was huge, and it wouldn't take anything at all to keep her away from the front offices long enough for Delilah to do whatever it was she was supposed to do.

Quatre had been a bit disappointed that he didn't get the chance to meet with her. All he'd ever managed to meet was Duck. Not that it mattered, but he didn't care for the double blind operations. Trusting someone with something like this was taking a little getting used to, and it was harder when he didn't know who he was laying this on the line for.

"Manufacturing probably seems rather boring to you, doesn't it," Jesimae broke into his thoughts as they wandered around the opposite side of the primary factory floor again.

"Boring?" he chuckled. "You've obviously never seen zero gravity mining."

With a giggle she stepped into his side as the two stopped at the railing around the machinery floor. "We are quite similar," she commented, her voice lowering a little as she watched the people on the floor move parts around.

Quatre blinked at the subtle change, one of a couple he'd noticed during the extent of the tour. He was growing increasingly less comfortable around her as they continued on. And he tried to lean back from her an inch at a time.

It didn't work as she looked up to catch his eye again and he tried to give her a smile. "Quatre, you haven't really said much. What do you think?" she pressed, one hand landing on his upper arm, effectively latching him in place.

Turning specifically away towards the workers and the area spread out in all directions around them, he pushed the feeling of her touch out of his mind. "It's a very streamlined operation. I can tell that your company has been around as long as it has. I am thoroughly impressed."

A soft beep sounded from his watch, which was almost covered by her giggles. Agent Delilah was finished and clearing out. Fantastic, the fake call would be next with his excuse to make a hasty departure in order to check back in with Duck.

"Some would think you're a flatterer, Mr. Winner," she softly cooed as he turned to his side to face her.

Only to watch her slip closer, her body brushing down his side, and one knee bent against the back of his. And he faltered a second at the brazen display before recovering as much as he could. "No flattery," he tried instead, again inching back from her.

"There is one more thing that I'd like you to see, if you'll let me show you," she smiled once more.

Quatre honestly swore that there was an odd sparkle in her eyes that he didn't want any part of. But his relief call hadn't come yet. If Delilah had been detained for some reason, they were far too close for him to lead her back to her office now. "…Alright," he hesitantly agreed.

And with one beauty pageant smile she released him only enough to take his hand and pull him after her along the walkway.

He was hoping that this was going to stay friendly. Quatre was actually fairly well versed, he was now finding, in dealing with overly bold women. Courtesy of Dorothy, of course. But he was a little worried with his present company.

Dorothy was far better at getting under your skin. However, he was beginning to wonder if Miss Jesimae was a little more interested in getting under someone's clothes instead.

He shouldn't think that way. It wasn't proper.

Why did he have such horrible luck with women?

She turned them through the work floor and up the metal grated steps on the other side, and he realized they were headed back to the office area again whether he meant them to or not. Searching quickly he found a section of the floor they were about to pass over and stopped, causing her to pause with him. "What is that area?" he asked, also using the excuse to remove his hand from hers to point.

Looking around, she smiled. "That's the paint booth."

"You paint too?" he asked. Of course he knew they painted. Half of the supplies his company bought from them came painted. "I would have figured you would outsource something like that," he covered. He was so bad at this. Why did he agree to come?

"Oh, no," she shook her head, stepping in close again and nudging him towards the railing so they could see more of the area. "We're a start to finish company," she explained with a secretive smile. "We like to keep people like you happy."

The air around them had to have turned ten degrees warmer. "You're doing a very good job with that already," he replied trying not to break a nervous chuckle, but failing miserably.

True to character it only made her giggle at him. "I'm sorry," she responded. "I'm coming on a little strong, aren't I?"

Quatre faded completely into shock, unable to cope with such a blatant statement. She was admitting to this? …Did girls do that?

Looking down, she kept her smile but stepped in to be directly in front of him, only a few inches away. "I suppose I'm not making it any secret," she began. Looking up, she met his eyes as he tried to think of anything to do. She was making him claustrophobic and he realized that this was not something he knew how to handle. "I can't help but like you, Quatre. We have a lot in common."

It took a second for his brain to register that he should be responding to that. "Uh… Yes. We do." Well, it was the truth, but what did he do now?

Jesimae smiled at the lame excuse for a reply as she looked up at him. "I don't mean to make you nervous," she almost whispered, stepping in all the way and brushing against him.

He hoped she didn't notice his whole body cringe at the move. How did he get out of this? Not only out of it, but without hurting her feelings in the process.

Dorothy would be laughing like a mental patient if she saw this.

Well, that thought really didn't help.

Lowering her eyes demurely, Jesimae placed a hand over his on the railing. He hadn't noticed that he'd grabbed it in a white-knuckled death-grip until then. "I'd really like the chance to get to know you," she easily continued before raising her eyes to his again. "I'd really like dinner tonight to be a date, Quatre," she smiled disarmingly.

And Quatre did something that he had always prided himself against. He drew out a mild mental curse that would have made Duo laugh for days.

Except that this wasn't funny. He was being honestly pursued by the hopeful affections of a woman he knew next to nothing about, and had no desire to date. He'd spent the last eight weeks unable to keep Dorothy out of his head, no matter how hard he tried to push it down, mainly because he was trying not to do this same thing to her.

What was he going to do? "Uh… Miss Jesimae…."

Shaking her head she snuggled in even closer, causing his breath to catch at the unwanted physical invasion. "Please, Quatre. Do me a favor," she forcefully met his eyes, "and drop the 'Miss.'"

That was not only not friendly but… suggestive.

No. He was just jumpy, he forcefully reminded himself.

"Um, Jesimae," he tried to continue. "I'm not sure…."

With a smile she stopped him, and went so far as to raise her hand away from his and place a finger over his lips. At least it got her body to move off of his. "Don't answer now. Let me just take you out and we'll see what happens."

That sounded more normal. He nodded a little against her finger, trying to work down the blush that he felt start to rise to replace the probably pale expression.

Happily, Jesimae turned with a flourish to lead him along again, taking his arm regardless of his nervousness. "Now then, I'd like to show you around the engineering offices. I think you'll find them interesting."

"Sure," he responded, only half listened to what she was saying.

This whole situation was exactly what he deserved for agreeing to gather evidence on them. Quatre mentally smacked himself upside the head. If he hadn't come, none of this would have happened. He could be sitting in his office right now, moping over his hopeless love life, instead of being called out by someone else that he had no affections for.

Who was he kidding? He'd been so desperate to get out of that place that he'd only been stalling with his own mind about taking the chance to join the team. This was exactly what being selfish got him.

What was he supposed to do? He had no intention of going through with dinner, or anything else. As soon as that dang phone rang he was sprinting for the door, handing this pen back, and….

Quatre glanced sideways as Jesimae continued with a little small talk as they walked.

Possibly the entire Preventers network was going to know in a matter of hours that he'd been all but felt up by his target…. Not to mention that the close-up images that the chest height pen probably captured during that encounter were going to end up on every pervert's desktop in the building.

This couldn't possibly get any worse.

* * *

This was so easy it was boring. Dorothy needed to mention to Commander Une that she wanted a little more adventure in her assignments from now on. Granted, she shouldn't be picky. It wasn't like she got out all that often as it was.

Lady Une didn't make a habit about this type of thing. But Dorothy was always a willing participant.

Standing now in the lobby of Nickels Refinery, she tapped the toe of her heels impatiently. The outside security hadn't even batted an eye at her. Duck or Goose could have pulled this off themselves. That had been the only thing they were really worried about, the rest was typical.

Mr. Nickels was completely out of the office the whole week anyway, and Jesimae was on some tour or something, not expected to be around here at all. They were the only two that would recognize her, but Dorothy already had her way in.

The Mars financial sheets were suddenly in need of a little information from the company due to the resources that she funneled through this place. The receptionist obviously wasn't the accounting expert around here, and was now on a hunt for the numbers that she needed.

Meanwhile, Dorothy stood in the lobby and waited.

The excuse was fishy, but nothing too unusual, especially when all she had to say was that the grants received for the Mars projects made the end of year taxes and reports a nightmare unequalled anywhere else. She'd decided that she was getting very good at convenient excuses.

Meanwhile in the office, she managed to plant her two microphones, and the packages of basic crud that she was going to leave for the two Nickels' themselves could be delivered by anyone. No one would ever be the wiser.

Such a waste of time. Dorothy frowned to herself as she studied one of the plaques on the walls in the boring little lounge. She personally would have wanted a full screening of the entire facility instead of just this petty stuff. Oh well, she wasn't the lead on the assignment.

_Bored, bored, bored_, she hummed to herself. Walking over to the window in the maintenance entryway out into the plant proper she took a curious look around, watching carefully for Jesimae.

For some reason Dorothy would have preferred meeting with the woman again. She was a bit curious as to the Quatre-love-interest possibilities there. Assuming of course that the woman wouldn't be going to a cold jail cell anytime soon.

He really had lousy luck with women. Well, she supposed she shouldn't complain. Poor dear man.

However, after Marquis Wayridge's thinly veiled accusation about them, Dorothy was hoping he hadn't noticed that she'd been a little distant the last month or more. Between this assignment, which she had decidedly refused to even hint to him about, and the knowledge that they were being monitored, she'd put him off a little.

She was regretting that now. Dorothy had her moments when she was just so sick and tired of worrying about other people's problems with her. Them, she corrected. Poor Quatre had been dragged into their little circle more than she would have liked him to be. Dealing with that sort of thing was her chore, not his.

If she didn't forget herself and tell them all where they could go with their little "wonderings."

Of course, Quatre probably hadn't noticed her mild slights. He had a number of things to occupy his time as well. The fiscal year end was as hectic as any multi-billion-credit corporation would be. And with him trying to shuffle off some of his own workload, she knew he was gently pushing her off too.

At least she assumed that was why she had that feeling. Truth be told, she was still a little troubled over their last meeting. Something just didn't seem to be right with him. Not that Quatre couldn't take care of himself. Well….

Dorothy chuckled in spite of herself, but pushed the thoughts away again. Dear Quatre just needed a little looking after, in a lot of areas. She was just happy to be of service. Quite honestly, it was far more rewarding than her other creative job placements these days.

"Miss Catalonia?" She turned to regard the receptionist as she came back with a small stack of printouts. "I hope I have what you need."

Smiling, Dorothy stepped over and took a quick look over her shoulder at the stack. "Those look exactly like what I need," she nodded. "I'm sorry I had to come on such short notice. You've been wonderful."

"Oh, I'm glad," the woman was visibly relieved. "If you need something else, let us know and we'll get it to you."

"Thank you, I will." Walking back across the lobby she moved to her case and pulled out the two packet folders. "While I'm here, I wondered if I could leave these for Mr. and Miss Nickels. They're nothing important, just something I thought may be of interest to them to see how your company is helping in our little project."

"Oh, thank you. I'll make sure they get them," she nodded.

"Thank you," Dorothy returned, tucking the papers back into her case.

"If there is nothing else…?" the receptionist asked.

"No, I'll be on my way."

The woman nodded and left down the hall again instead of into her office. Probably going to tell accounting that they could relax again, she figured.

Picking up her case, Dorothy tossed her hair over her shoulder, using the excuse to tap the pickup on her headband to give the delivery signal back to Duck and Goose.

She was so glad she suggested her own codename for this group of assignments.

Turning on her heel, she walked out the door and right past the empty security station. Good grief, wasn't anything exciting going happen on this trip?

* * *

Engineering was anything but interesting, but Quatre tried his best to stall.

"If you're ever interested in consolidating some of the work orders that we do for you, you'll know where to go," Jesimae added as she led him through the cubicles.

"You certainly have the staff for it." He was only catching half of anything she said. He was still trying to figure out how to get himself out of this mess.

Passing a break room hallway, he followed her along as they moved back towards the front offices. An office worker was staring at his satellite phone in annoyance as another two talked around him, and Quatre again wondered what could possibly be taking so long for his relief call to come in.

"Man, you know you're never going to get a signal through here," one laughed as the man holding the phone brought it up to squint at it.

"I know, I'm trying to get my notes to come up," he responded.

And Quatre about tripped to a stop right there in the hallway.

How hopelessly ironic. The best trained spies and equipment junkies in the Preventers forces, along with himself as a tactical strategist, and none of them happened to realize that there wouldn't be cell service inside a metal-working facility.

It was almost enough to make him laugh.

"Well, that's the end of the line for me," Jesimae broke through his wallow of self-pity. "Is there anything else that you're interested in?" she asked, taking his arm once again and stopping him in the middle of the split-level staircase.

"No. You've been a wonderful guide." He'd been practicing for that line all day.

"Well, thank you," she nearly whispered, leaning into him again.

Quatre involuntarily leaned back from her, but ran himself into the wall he was up against. Jumpy. Just jumpy.

"It's a little early for dinner," she seemed to pop out of it again. "Any suggestions?" she smiled.

"No… no, not really." Strategist huh? He needed to demote himself. "Actually, I should check in with the office. I figured I would have gotten a call from them some time today. A couple sensitive issues came up just before I left, and I'm wondering how they turned out."

Pulling the phone from his pocket for emphasis he flipped it open, only to reveal that there were no calls… or service.

"Oh, that's not going to work in here," she immediately recognized. "I never thought to mention that. The guys have resorted to painting X's on the ground in the three or four places around here that you can actually get an outside line," she laughed. "I'll let you use my office phone."

Quatre sighed to himself. It had probably been twenty-five minutes since the beep had come that Delilah was finished. He had to assume that that was more than enough time for her to be out of the offices and gone. And if she wasn't… he wasn't sure he cared all that much anymore. "I'd appreciate that."

"Of course." Releasing him, she led the way back down to the main level and into the front offices through the reception area. The woman he had met earlier greeted them with a smile and Jesimae waved him into her office. "I should check in too," she excused herself, closing the door on her way out.

Well, if he'd known he would have this opportunity he would have left Delilah out of it entirely. However, he did know the building's security grid enough to know that there was still one camera in the room. Picking up the phone he got an outside line and punched in his work number, and then his own extension so he would get his recording instead of a live person.

Faking an entire call, complete with worried silences just in case there was anyone listening, he gave himself a nicely placed crisis that wouldn't alarm anyone too badly aside from himself. He was down to the antsy goodbyes when he noticed the folder lying in the middle of Jesimae's desk.

"Mars Terraforming Project: Third Phase."

That was a strange thing to see here. The refinery shouldn't have had any more involvement with the project than simple resource needs. It was just a brochure, one that he'd seen dozens of times, and a little sales pitch of a packet. But what was Jesimae looking into it for?

First the hospital and the security company and now Mars? Could he really shrug off the coincidence again?

Returning to his faked conversation he shifted it, coming up with some name off the top of his head that they should turn it over to. He had no idea how he was going to do this, but that little packet had just sealed his dinner date… with Jesimae Nickels.

_Oh, Dorothy. Forgive me._

* * *

The man sighed out a curse as Quatre passed him in the lounge area of the spaceport. Following casually along after him they both stepped into the men's restroom. "I didn't think we were ever going to get you out of there," Duck shook his head. "I was debating on calling direct with an emergency or something."

"It's alright," he waved it off, handing the pen back to the man in question. "I managed. But I'm also staying here this evening."

The guy started, but did a quick look around their insecure environment. "…Why?"

With a crooked smile, Quatre shrugged as best he could. "I have a date."

His contact laughed for all he was worth and then shook his head. "Civies," he mumbled. "Fine, fine, whatever. You're on your own. I'm assuming there wasn't anything juicy?"

"Nothing I found," Quatre responded honestly but desperately fought to keep his blush down. They were going to know as soon as that pen in his hand was opened. "But Miss Jesimae's invitations are… insistent."

The smile that lit the older man's face said that there was anything but proper thoughts going through his head about that comment.

And Quatre couldn't refute it. Right now, he didn't want to let on that there could be an involvement with Mars. That was out of these peoples' hands anyway. If this team left, believing nothing more than that he'd been suckered in by a pretty face, he had the chance to pick at the situation a little on his own.

Oh, he hated this.

"Well then," Duck chuckled as he tucked the pen securely into his pocket. "Nice knowing you." With a half-hearted wave, he turned and walked out of the room again.

Walking over to the sinks, Quatre washed his hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a minute. He didn't want to do this. Jesimae was a beautiful, intelligent, and nice enough person. In another situation, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't enjoy a casual evening out with her.

But even though his feelings for Dorothy were rather tentative and completely unreturned… Jesimae just didn't compete.

Would he be leading her on with this? The woman was more then enthused about sharing her feelings for him, which was not only shocking but frightfully suffocating. In the past three hours he felt more claustrophobic and smothered than he ever had in his life.

Quatre didn't even know why he agreed to all of this. He couldn't honestly feel that there was anything in her character, or her father's, that would involve them in illegal activity. It wasn't a crime to come on to someone.

He had to stop thinking like that.

Sucking in a deep breath he dried his hands and left the restroom, quickly heading back to the private shuttle gate at the far end of the port. He'd made his excuse that he had trouble at the company and needed to at least head back to his shuttle to look over a few things, getting him away long enough to deliver the camera. After that, he'd simply let Jesimae talk him into meeting her a little later.

Quatre had about an hour to figure out how to get through dinner, and then how to try to leave this woman on friendly—only—terms.

How hard could it be?

He almost jumped when his phone finally rang in his pocket as he moved into the inter-transport line towards the last stop and his private shuttle. Digging it out, he flipped it open, almost hoping for a real company emergency.

Instead, his ID read "Dorothy Catalonia." And his heart about stopped as he slumped into a seat when the train began to move, nearly catching him off balance. He stared at the name in half-longing, and half-terror as it rang again, and then again.

And then it stopped. The screen went back to normal, erasing the ID line from the bottom. He still didn't move as he stared at it, shock still, until the icon at the bottom flashed up again to say he had a message waiting.

Dorothy. Of all the times he needed her, and would have done about anything to have her advice on a situation, it had to be now. It had been eight long weeks since he'd seen her. Time he had used to try and get a grip on his feelings for her. Time that he thought would give them some space to see if those feelings would fade.

They hadn't. He'd missed her. Terribly missed her.

He would have loved to call her back, sit here and pour out his story about the assignment and Jesimae and listen to her laugh at him before poking and prodding him to suck it up and go out and have some fun.

Unfortunately that would be her response. She wouldn't be hurt that he was out with another woman. She wouldn't think anything of the little promiscuous display he'd been given. She'd just call him naive and tell him to enjoy the attention of a woman attracted to him.

Why was she always right about these things? It was getting annoying.

He couldn't possibly talk to her about this. Not only did the assignment require secrecy, but there was no way he could tell the woman he believed he was falling in love with that he needed dating advice for someone else.

Although, if this had been three months ago, he probably would have. At least then he wouldn't have felt like he was betraying her.

Yeah, then all he'd have to focus on was using Jesimae for information and ignoring her outspoken feelings.

Why him?

Closing his phone he looked up to notice that he was still two gates away from his stop. He hadn't noticed the crowd around him get on and off of the transport train, and he wasn't sure he cared. But looking back down at the phone, he opened it again and stared at the message icon. He couldn't ignore her, even if it was only to hear her voice.

Retrieving it, he held the phone to his ear and sat back in the seat. The phone gave the date and time of the call and then beeped as the message started. "Ciao, Master Winner! I tried the office but they said you were gone for a couple days. Taking a vacation, are we? Well then, you won't be interested in my offer to invite myself over, now will you? Your loss, I suppose," she chuckled and hung up.

He'd missed her. She was on colony and he'd missed her. He never should have come here. Never.

Closing the phone with a snap, he rose as the train slowed to its last stop at the private holding port. Exiting, he made his way through the lounges and finally out to the docking area and into his own shuttle. Shutting the hatch behind him, he braced himself against the dark interior.

Opening his phone again, the glow illuminated the inside as he replayed her message again, just listening to the happy note in her voice. Even in their short conversations the past few weeks, she had seemed a little restless, stating only that she was busy. With what, he hadn't pried to ask.

There were exceptions. After a particularly sleepless night, he had risen at six in the morning and had called her just because he couldn't take feeling so alone without her. She had been a bit surprised at the early call, at least for him, but had chatted easily with him for over an hour.

It had been snowing there. At her cabin home in Lago Bonito. She'd described the light snowfall over the lake behind her house, and he had laid back and listened to the soft peace in her voice. He would have loved to have seen it. Would have loved to have been with her, watching the snow. …Would have loved to watch it together with her in his arms.

It was easy with Dorothy. Natural. A progression that had, yes, surprised him, but one he could understand. Her type of concern, and the sprinkles of her affection, made him crave her. Maybe that was it. He felt like he had to work for them, claim them maybe.

But Jesimae…. Jesimae wasn't Dorothy. The similarities were there, but they had a night and day difference as to how they expressed their emotions. Jesimae didn't know him well enough to have that kind of feeling for him. And he certainly didn't know her well enough to even be all that good at filling in awkward silences, let alone take her on a date.

He should stop comparing the two. It didn't flatter either of them that way.

Replaying the message one more time, Quatre finally smiled at it. Keying in his commands he lifted the phone back to his ear and pushed down the nervousness he felt.

"I was wondering if you'd fallen into deep space," came the answer.

"Hello, Dorothy. I'm sorry to miss you," he smiled genuinely at her.

"Quatre, I'm just going to get the impression that you don't like me anymore," she sighed with a mock-pout.

_How wrong you are_, he mentally refuted. "You know that's not true. I'm having dinner with an associate tonight, or I'd rush right home to meet you."

"How sweet," she purred in his ear. "But don't let me interrupt. I just thought that since I was off planet I would say hello. I'll be headed back home in a couple hours now."

"I'm still sorry that I'm missing you," he honestly replied.

"Ah well. I can take rejection," she teased.

Rejection. That only brought up whatever he was going to have to go through with Jesimae tonight. "That's not it."

Dorothy snickered at him. "Yes, yes, I know. Well, I'll leave you to work."

He didn't want her to go already. Part of him still felt like trying to ask her for help. "Dorothy…" he paused before he could figure out what to say.

"Yes?" came the curious response.

He couldn't do this. "Maybe we'll get together sometime soon."

"Of course we will," she responded easily. "Take care, dearest."

"You too. Goodbye, Dorothy."

With a click she was gone, and Quatre stayed with the phone to his ear. His mind kept echoing over and over again, _"Goodbye, Dorothy."_

* * *

Less than five hundred feet away, Dorothy Catalonia looked suspiciously at the phone in her hand. Sitting in a chair in an unused corner near the front ticketing counter she wondered why that seemed so odd. Quatre was being strange lately. And she, for once, was out of recourses for what to do about it.

What was all of her prestige, money, and looks good for if Quatre became the one person in her little world that she couldn't turn into a confessing pile of goo whenever she wanted?

Yeah, still needed to work on the sadistic tendencies.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she picked up her garment bag once more and headed for the ticketing line. She may as well get her flight home scheduled. With any luck there was a seat open on the one leaving in a couple hours.

And with more luck, she'd be able to stay home for a while this time.

* * *

Jesimae was going to "freshen up" during their time apart, and Quatre had said he would meet her at the restaurant. Waiting patiently, he sipped at his water glass, finding the view from the second-story, inner balcony table calming as the colony lights began to dim for the evening. It was a very nice establishment, and she had arranged the reservations herself.

He'd arrived early, as he usually tried to. Twenty minutes might have been a bit excessive though.

He couldn't help it. He wanted this over with so he could safely make it back to the resource station tonight and away from his general thoughts on women. Which was probably a hopeless idea considering he was staying with Iria and Nashita tonight.

They were family, maybe he could talk to them…. With a mental sigh he brushed that off. Not a chance.

Quatre caught sight of their waiter and Jesimae coming up the steps to the overlooking balcony that ran around all four walls of the place. Rising to his feet he met his… date, he swallowed, and took her hand to peck a kiss on it before she allowed the waiter to seat her. "You look very nice this evening," he commented, figuring that to be as good of an opening line as any.

She had changed into the—proverbial—little black dress. It was actually a nicely modest cut and hung to mid-calf on her with a sleeveless, squared neckline. "Thank you," she smiled. "I'm sorry if you've been waiting long."

"No, not at all," he waved it off.

Jesimae had taken her hair down as well, the curls falling as they may around her tanned shoulders and arms. A silver necklace hung at the hollow of her throat, the pendant displaying probably a large sapphire accented with a couple diamonds. Two matching bracelets slid over her left wrist as she took the menu their waiter offered. The set seemed to be finished with a collection of three silver rings over her hands.

Dorothy never wore jewelry. He didn't know why. Aside from an extensive collection of gemstone earrings, he had rarely seen her wear a necklace, and never a bracelet. Once in a while he would notice her wearing a thin gold thumb ring on her left hand though. She'd probably be insulted with silver, he thought as he stared uninterestedly down at his menu.

"Good evening," a second waiter approached their table. "May I interest either of you in our choice of wines tonight?"

Quatre blinked, but then remembered L3 had a legal drinking age of eighteen.

"Oh, please," Jesimae easily answered. "A glass of your house red would be wonderful," she smiled to him.

The man was obviously appreciative of the attention and nodded to her before turning back to him. "And you, Sir? May I suggest something?"

"No, thank you," he replied. Nodding, the sommelier turned away again.

"They really do have a fantastic merlot for their specialty here," she coaxed.

Giving her a smile he shook his head lightly. "I'm afraid I'm still underage, and I don't drink." And he didn't have a clue what a merlot was anyway.

"Really?" she seemed surprised. But her eyes quickly turned a little more mischievous, "I won't tell if you won't," she said a little lower with a giggle.

He blinked at her but shook it off, "I'm also Muslim. I don't drink at all, Miss Jesimae." He about kicked himself for the "Miss" again, but she didn't seem to mind this time around.

Instead she giggled with a shrug, "First time for everything." Winking she went back to her menu.

Quatre would openly admit that he was not the most faithful follower of his religion, but he was a little taken off guard by the complete disregard she'd just shown. Dorothy had nervously apologized for cooking wine when she hadn't even known better when he told her.

He had to stop comparing the two.

Forcefully going back to his menu he found a little of everything. Any tradition you could think of had a listing of choices and he scanned through the Indian selection, fighting to keep the smirk down as his memories took him back to Dorothy's red-nosed little plight.

This wasn't working.

Skipping that he moved on, purposefully skipping the seafood, Italian, and French selections. Why did everything suddenly remind him of her?

Their waiter had returned before he'd even stopped berating himself for his treacherous thoughts. "Are you ready to order, Ma'am?" he asked her first.

"I think so," she tapped a finger to her chin a second. "I'd like the lamb do piaza."

Quatre balked. Although her pronunciation was a little off, he couldn't believe that the woman had ordered, not only an Indian dish, but a rather spicy one at that. …Intentionally, no less.

"Very good. And for you, Sir?"

For what reason he didn't know, he looked up at the waiter without thinking. "Beef Vindaloo, please."

The man nodded easily. "May I get you a side of nan?"

"Pratha, please. If you have it."

"Of course." Taking their menus back, the man nodded to them both again and left.

"Well, we do seem to have similar tastes," Jesimae smiled, folding her hands and leaning on the table in front of her.

Oddly stricken, he watched her, "I'm surprised to find a woman who likes spicy food."

"Oh, the hotter the better," she indulgently sighed.

…She just wasn't Dorothy.

* * *

Commander Une paused, giving her phone an odd look. "He what?"

"'Samson' decided to stay on with the target… socially," came the reply.

That was strange. She had thought—well, that wasn't her concern. "Did he ever meet Delilah?"

"No, Ma'am. As ordered, there was no contact."

Maybe she should have let the two in on it. Shaking that off the Lady decided she'd been reading too much into her other network's musings. "Very well then. Have you analyzed the data?"

"We've been over the camera feed that he gave us four times, and aside from deciding that Target Two is a terrible flirt, we got nothing."

Flirt? Well, the man had a common appetite. "Very well. Carry on and report back when you have finished your analysis."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rethinking that just a little, she stared down at her phone again. "Send me a copy of the recording and then erase everything else. Original included."

"Uh, Ma'am?"

"I would hate to lose such a valuable civilian agent because this somehow got into the wrong hands." And she would not allow Quatre's reputation to be ruined by anything, regardless of truth or fiction.

"Understood."

* * *

"I have a number of works in progress," Quatre stated, trying to keep the conversation afloat. "Some more opportunistic than others."

"Like the colony fabrication?" Jesimae smiled. "That was very adventurous of you."

"It started as personal, but it was good to branch the company into something a little more stable these days." Taking a drink of his water, he cautiously eyed her, setting it down again. "That's also why I'm supporting some of the Mars endeavors as well."

"You really find that stable?" she raised an eyebrow. "We have a few contacts that work on the project as well, and I would say it sounds anything but stabile."

"Really? What end do your contacts work in?" he asked, trying to be curious.

"Well, the main one is in administration and supply management, or something like that. I'm never sure how much she has her fingers in," Jesimae laughed.

That sounded familiar, but Quatre tried not to let on. Jesimae probably wouldn't know that he knew Dorothy, but he did know that she worked with the company from time to time.

Twirling her wine glass, her third, she took on an odd expression at her thoughts. "Actually, she was in today, needing some information that she had to furnish for government grant financial paperwork. It sounds like an absolutely horrible mess to me," she shrugged.

And he froze. Shocked, he snapped himself to do something to look casual, so he picked his water glass up again. "Really?"

"Yes. The lady is good enough to work with, but awfully pushy if you ask me."

Delilah…. The packet in Jesimae's office could have been nothing more than a plant.

"She's got this funny little partner, or employee, or whatever he is," she laughed at her thoughts and smiled at him. "It's you gentlemen that make my job worthwhile."

Mars. An administrative woman who came today. With an oddly funny partner. "I'm quite familiar with most of the administrative personnel for the Satellite. Perhaps I know her," he tried to calmly ask, still holding his water glass for something to keep his hand steady.

"_We're leg work, she's legs."_ It couldn't be….

"Um…" she tried to think a second as he held his breath. "Doreen—Dorothy, Dorothy Catalonia."

The ice cubes in his glass rattled a second as the cold shiver went through him.

"Oh and what was his name," she bit at her lip for a second as she turned her eyes out the window to think.

It was the only thing that spared him from her seeing his shocked and horrified reaction. Purposefully setting his glass down on the table, he fought against the thoughts that plagued him. "Duo Maxwell," he supplied.

"Yes!" Jesimae cheered. Turning back she gave him an odd look. "You know them then?"

"I know both quite well," he tried to smile through the numbness. "You could probably say that I was the reason the two joined up together with recycling the supply ship they lost."

"Oh?" she blinked. "Is Mr. Maxwell not an official part of the administration?"

"No. He was with me at the time. He's one of the best repair technicians I know. However, that ship was far from needing repairs."

"Oh yes, I heard," she gave a little frown. "Why were you involved with it?"

"Myself and a team were called in for help with parts and services to get the Mars colony functioning as soon as possible," he forced out. "Would you excuse me, just a moment, Jesimae?"

"Of course," she answered as he rose to his feet and slipped as casually as he could away from the table.

It was a little hard when he couldn't feel his feet as he descended the steps to the main floor and then headed towards the restrooms.

Dorothy. Dorothy was Delilah. She had not only been in on this assignment for weeks now, but she had been in the same building as him today. They had covered each other on an assignment and hadn't even known….

Or had she? Was she more a part of this than he realized from the reports? What if she….

He made it just inside the men's room before he paused and pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself.

What if she did know he was the one here? What if she was going to see that recording?

* * *

"They keep saying the right person will come along, I think mine got hit by a truck."

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by Spiked Jin


	33. Chapter 33

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 33

He was sick. Almost physically ill.

Quatre didn't even know how he'd managed to part ways with Jesimae, but he had given her that exact excuse. He wasn't feeling well all of a sudden.

It didn't matter. At this point he couldn't care less if she thought he was being rude or not.

He had known the sudden rush of adrenaline-enhanced terror more times in his life than he cared to count, but never because of an emotional reaction before. Now, he was still quieting himself as he made his way through the spaceport back to his shuttle. He didn't know what he was doing, he just wanted out. Away. Away from one horrible mistake after another.

Dorothy. She had called him to see about coming for a visit. She obviously couldn't have known he was the one here. He just hadn't thought of her reason for being on colony was for the same mission. He couldn't possibly have known.

She'd never said anything about working with the Preventers for a mission before. Never even hinted that she got called into active duty. Not that the mission parameters didn't suit her skills. He had no idea anymore what she could be up to at any given time.

Now, she was… she was….

Quatre stopped in the middle of the central hub, the people around him blending out of existence in his mind. _"I'll be headed back home in a couple hours now."_

A couple hours. Turning in a slow circle he looked back towards the main gates for a long moment before taking off for it like he was being chased.

She was here. Somewhere. In this spaceport. She had to be.

Finding an automatic console he quickly put in his request for flights leaving for one of three ports around her home area. The one in New Port was the only one that still had a flight out tonight. Twenty minutes… with a delay.

Quickly moving to the inter-transit train, it took him ten minutes to get to the right gate and into the main lounge. If she was already boarded none of this would do him any good.

But as he pulled up at the side of the waiting area he picked her out easily. Dorothy sat in an end chair next to a large potted plant, a book in her lap and her chin propped up with one hand. Attired in a skirt suit, her legs were crossed and her feet were in a pair of heels. Beside her a small garment bag was half open.

Just breathing for a second to get his wind back, Quatre leaned against the corner of the open area, letting his emotions calm themselves again. She was here, right in front of him.

Unaware, Dorothy flipped the page of her book and continued reading.

It didn't matter what he'd hoped to accomplish during their time apart. Or what had happened today. The sheer impulse to be beside her was too strong.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he quickly punched up her number and raised it to his ear. It rang and he watched Dorothy finish a line or two in her book before reaching into her case for her phone. Pulling it out she opened it and gave it a second glance before a little smile entered her features.

It only made his heart skip.

Raising it to her ear she placed a mark into her book and closed it before glancing at her watch. "Master Winner. Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" she teased.

"I cut out early," he responded, still leaning against the wall.

Dorothy gave a little confused expression, "Why is that?"

"She was too good of a conversationalist."

"Too good?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he responded easily. "But I was hoping that you would do something for me."

She moved her book from her lap to the other chair and leaned back in her seat. "Anything, dearest. What do you need?"

"Cancel your flight," he smiled.

She visibly started. "What? Why?"

Stepping away from the wall he started towards her. "Because I think we need to talk."

Dorothy was honestly confused by this point as she listened, oblivious to his approach. "Oh? Do you need me to meet you somewhere?" she tried to guess.

"Yes," he answered, turning down her row of chairs. She was apparently waiting for more than that, but he made it past the other group of people seated a few chairs down from her. "Right here," he responded, closing his phone.

She was still trying to sort that out when she involuntarily looked up to see who was closing in on her position, freezing instantly. "Quatre," she whispered, completely shocked.

"Hello… Delilah," he gave her a smile and placed his hands in his pockets as he looked down at her.

Even Dorothy wasn't good enough to completely stop the reaction from telling on her. Lowering her phone she stared up at him, going a little pale.

The announcement that they could begin boarding called over the area, but she didn't budge. Instead of pushing the issue here and now he caught up with his actions again. Glancing over at the boarding station he nodded to it. "I won't stop you from heading home. But I'd prefer if you didn't."

Snapping out of it she considered it just a second before shaking it off. "Of course. Let me just…" she gave up trying to make that a complete sentence as she rose to her feet and moved past him to the attendant to cancel her seat.

Waiting was what got to him. After the initial thought passed through him to find her he hadn't felt the sting of nervousness until now.

* * *

Sitting in the still docked shuttle the two swapped stories. Quatre had been able to tell her his involvement and even worked up the courage to tell her the rest too. And he had found it almost worth it just to watch Dorothy try not to laugh.

"Sweetheart, you do know it's alright for girls to like you, don't you?" she teased mercilessly.

"Yes, I've figured that out," he mumbled back. "I just wasn't prepared for that."

"Well, there are some bold women in the world," she tried not to snicker at him.

"Bold I'm getting used to." He tossed her a pointed look. "It's a bold woman who is actually attracted to me that I don't know what to do with."

Dorothy sat in the large, plush seat next to him in the cabin of the shuttle. Her heels had been kicked off as soon as she entered and her feet were now tucked under her as she sat in her suit skirt. The armrest between them was down so that she could prop her elbows up to hold her chin to face him while they talked.

With a laugh she shook her head. "There are a lot of ways to be attracted to someone. It doesn't mean that you're going to get a real relationship with them," she counseled.

He knew that. He was just feeling sorry for himself.

"But you don't seem especially interested," she turned curious. "Why?"

Quatre returned her gaze evenly, the mental voices in his head supplying that answer readily. And it would be so easy to just say one simple sentence, one little comment, a few words that would make her understand that he wasn't interested in anyone but her.

But he couldn't. "I couldn't take it," he answered, honestly enough, instead. "I just felt smothered by her."

Dorothy blinked, obviously a little surprised. "Well, she might be a little more outwardly affectionate than some. I would have figured that would be good for you."

Leaning his shoulder back into his seat farther he wondered at that a second. "Why would you say that?"

She shrugged, "You're a rather outwardly emotional person too, dear. You have that in common."

"I don't find our methods all that similar," he responded a little bitterly.

"Your methods are quite similar," her eyes narrowed at him. "It's your desires that don't seem to match."

"I don't know that," he defended her, although he wasn't sure why.

"Such an honorable noble," Dorothy cooed. "But you're right. I shouldn't be mentally swathing her in black satin before she deserves it," she mildly chided herself, turning away.

Black satin? No, he wasn't going to ask.

"So you're not really comfortable with the 'first move' types. Most men aren't," she reasoned. "Something about it wounds your ego, I think."

Sighing, he closed his eyes a minute, his mental scoreboard still tied as to whether he should have told her any of this or not. "I think my ego's fine. I'm a little more worried that I hurt her feelings. I all but ran out of the place on her." Looking at her again he found her eyes turned away still, staring into space. "How do I make up for that?"

Dorothy gave a little sniff, "Serves her right." He started, waiting for an explanation for that, but she didn't move for a long moment until she closed her eyes and seemed to snap out of it. "That wasn't a nice thing to say."

It was probably just his wishful thinking, but he wondered if that sounded a little bitter.

Turning back to face him again she held a rather bored expression and his little hope deflated again. "Be cordial I suppose. Call and apologize, that would be nice. If she presses the issue you may have to say that you're not interested."

His first thought was that he had no idea how to do that. But as he nodded he realized something. Scrutinizing her a second he wondered at that again, feeling his hope patch its own hole and rise a little.

Batting her eyelashes at his look she waited. "What?"

"That's not what I expected you to say," he reasoned out loud.

Raising an eyebrow she looked at him funny. "And what did you expect me to say?"

"Honestly," he sighed, "I expected you to tell me to give it another chance."

"Why would I encourage you to do that?"

No change. He couldn't read if what he wanted to see in her was actually there. "You've always encouraged me with Jesimae," he accused.

"Well, that was before she had an undercover criminal investigation brought against her. Among other things," Dorothy raised a smirk.

Quatre couldn't help but smile even as he dropped his head to shake it. "You're so nice to look after me," he grumbled.

Dorothy laughed. Looking at her again he figured this whole situation wasn't a total loss.

To his surprise she lifted the armrest between them and then sort of crawled closer. His sideways position in the seat making it a little more difficult. She found one handhold between his hip and the seatback, and another actually on his knee as she raised herself to lean over him.

Meeting her eyes he involuntarily swallowed as he noticed that predatory gleam of hers was out in full force. Something he hadn't seen in her for quite some time. "You only have room for one bad influence in your life. And I enjoy my job."

He suddenly felt the compartment around them go very warm. "You aren't really a bad influence," he refuted, for the first time almost enjoying that look on her.

"Darling, don't ruin my illusion," she lowered her voice and narrowed her eyes just a little.

He couldn't help it; he smiled at the statement, meeting her playful attempt at intimidation. "I've never figured you for the jealous type, Miss Dorothy," he tried to return her expression.

"Never, Master Winner," she emphasized with a smirk. "Jealousy doesn't suit me."

Somehow that didn't deter the happy little hope in him.

* * *

"Mistress?" Manul blinked.

"Dorothy!" Nashita happily exclaimed, about spilling their popcorn bowl directly in Manul's lap.

"Don't get up," she waved them back down. "I wouldn't want to interrupt you two," she winked as she moved past the couch in the living room.

Manul rolled his eyes and lifted the bowl to make sure it didn't tip over. Nashita bounced to her feet anyway and almost skipped after them. "I didn't know you were coming," she smiled. "Now I really should have cleaned."

Dorothy stopped to chuckle at the woman and shook her head. "Last minute company deserves a dirty house."

"Hello," Quatre half-heartedly announced himself again from in front of her. "I feel so unloved," he grumbled.

She only snickered at him for a comment like that after today. Nashita rolled her eyes and hopped over to give her brother a hug. "Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too. So, Dorothy, what brings you here?" she turned back to her, the woman's arms still around Quatre's neck.

The poor man only sighed.

Backing down her laugh, Dorothy shrugged. "Someone caught me at the spaceport and is holding me hostage."

"This was your idea," Quatre defended himself. Nashita turned to frown at him and he threw out his arms. "It was!"

With a shake of her head his sister sighed at him. "Little brother, we need to teach you how to treat a lady," she grumbled. Dorothy laughed so hard Manul actually took her elbow to keep her upright and she was grateful for the arm.

She knew this would be a fun stay.

Nashita leaned over Quatre's shoulder towards the other door leading from the larger living room and kitchen area to what looked like a hallway. "Iria, get down here!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

The poor man cringed at the sound and then turned back to his sister. "Where is she, at the neighbors?" he complained.

"I heard you already!" came a disembodied voice from the hallway.

Both men in the room only sighed.

"Uh… I should be going," Manul mumbled under his breath. "Early start tomorrow and all," he made an excuse.

Latching onto the arm that he'd given her, Dorothy stopped him easily. "Oh, now Manul, please, we wouldn't want to interrupt your date," she cooed to him, throwing a knowing glance towards his girlfriend who gave a nervous giggle from her bother's side.

A brother that narrowed his eyes at her in mock-irritation for teasing them.

"Quatre, we expected you hours ago," Iria slipped into the room from the hallway door. Stopping, she gave a surprised look when she discovered Dorothy. "Oh," she seemed to correct herself but then covered. "Lady Dorothy, hello."

"Hello, Iria. I hope I'm not horribly imposing."

"Not at all!" Nashita happily announced instead.

Iria nodded in welcome and the two sisters changed spots. Dorothy wasn't sure why she noticed it, but as Nashita walked back to snuggle into Manul's other side, she watched the other two siblings hug.

"I tried to call but I didn't get an answer," Quatre informed her as Iria slipped her arms around his shoulders in a light hug.

"We went out for dinner tonight," Iria responded.

But instead of really hugging her back, Dorothy found it a little odd that he only moved one hand around her to very lightly rub down her back before she pulled away again, barely making contact. "How are you?" he softly asked her as Nashita and Manul exchanged something else between themselves.

"Fine. I've just been on my feet a lot today," Iria smiled back.

Dorothy blinked it off as she turned back to the couple next to her. "So, Dorothy, what brings you here?" Nashita mischievously smiled at her.

"Well, apparently I was in the neighborhood," she shrugged.

"Uh huh," Manual commented, crinkling his brow a little as he looked down at her. "Which neighborhood?"

Nashita went wide-eyed and pinched him in the stomach for the comment. "Manul!"

Dorothy however removed her hands to settle them on her hips instead, giving him an un-amused glare. She realized she was still in her shortest skirt suit and an infamous pair of heels, but she didn't care for the insinuation. "Well, I didn't dress for you," she snipped.

"You're cold, you know that?" he returned.

"Well," Iria broke in, a hand still lounging on Quatre's shoulder who was trying valiantly not to break a chuckle. "Maybe we should figure out room arrangements. Especially considering we're expecting one more tonight," she lowered her voice a little and cast Quatre a look.

Nashita giggled to herself at the confused look that passed Quatre's face. "Aleigha's steamed again and she found out you were coming here."

Poor Quatre visibly wilted, closing his eyes. "I knew that was coming."

"Master Quatre, we can smuggle you in with us tonight," Manul offered.

"Thanks," he dejectedly returned.

* * *

"Aleigha, he's your only brother and you haven't seen him in months. Stop being a nag," Nashita broke in, pelting the oldest of the four present Winners with a piece of popcorn.

"I am not being a nag," Aleigha calmly replied, picking the kernel out of her wavy blond hair.

"Yes, you are," the younger replied as she turned back to the television in front of the couch she was still sharing with Manul.

"Did someone not bake her long enough?" Aleigha grumbled to herself.

The other four sat around the kitchen table, Aleigha on the end, Iria and Dorothy across from each other, and Quatre sat with his head in his arms at the other end.

This day just couldn't get any better. One more pushy female and he was going to throw himself out the nearest airlock.

"Aleigha!" Iria admonished.

Looking up he gave the oldest of them a pointed look too hoping Dorothy didn't get that reference. Dorothy. She had to think they were all nuts by this point.

But she sat there, scooted close to him, with a perpetual little smile in place as she watched the two ping-pong back and forth. His one true corporate-minded sister was a little concerned over his new shuffling of duties. Quatre had expected that. He was breaking tradition after all by not following the job description their father had held.

Dorothy had tried a couple times to defend him before he had managed to give her a covert shake of his head to leave herself out of it. Aleigha would only come unglued if she thought he'd been "coerced" into this decision. He already knew that she didn't completely trust Dorothy yet.

She caught on quickly and left him to Aleigha's judgement, with a random interjection from Iria who would try to soothe both sides. It seemed she had to do that a lot between all of them.

"Oh, fine," Aleigha huffed.

He chuckled anyway as he noticed Manul slip an arm around Nashita's shoulders on the couch across the room and say something to her. He wasn't around the two together very often, and it was heartwarming to see the openly affectionate couple.

To his surprise though Manul rose to his feet and moved back towards the table. "Well, as touching as the family reunion is," he interrupted, "I'm going to head back. It's getting late. I can wait though if you want, Master Quatre?"

"No," he shook it off, leaning back in his chair. "I'll get to the apartments just fine."

His friend nodded, pulling a cardkey out of his pocket and tossing it across the table to him. "Just in case," he shrugged. "Goodnight, ladies," he bowed to the others, "Mistress," he mumbled with a snicker to Dorothy.

"Goodnight," the three women responded as he turned away and left, pecking Nashita a kiss on the way out.

* * *

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Quatre, leave," Dorothy commanded.

Sighing, he sulked to himself about leaving her here with his sisters. It was like leaving a wounded man on the battlefield.

"I'll be fine," she chuckled at him. Slipping in, she gave him a warm little hug in the house's entryway, the most privacy they had been offered all night. "Goodnight, dear," she whispered, raising her face to brush a kiss on his cheek.

For once he had actually been hoping for one of her infamous pecks on the lips. Figures. "I'll meet you here tomorrow morning."

"Alright," she nodded.

He realized he still hadn't let her go yet and shakily untangled himself from her and picked up his bags. Leaving the house he walked out towards the waiting taxi and only glanced back to watch Dorothy give him a little wave before closing the door on him.

Getting in he gave the driver the address in the workers' apartment complexes. The resource station was a city in itself. Almost everyone here had family working in the outer space docking range that connected to the domed city. Most families had houses of their own, but many of the single or moveable crews resided in the large cluster of apartment complexes.

The Maguanacs had been moved around quite a lot, especially lately. But half of the group working for him called the number three station home. At the very outskirts of the L4 cluster, it was a convenient location to both L4 and the close L3 Colonies, which included seven of the thirteen stations currently functioning.

It was almost one in the morning here, but he was sure he'd get a chance to see everyone before they left again tomorrow. Right now, he was just planning on enjoying the peace. It had been a very long day.

On that note he arrived at the apartment building that the Maguanacs stayed in and was thankful that Manul left him the keycard since he'd be locked out this late otherwise. Finding the right apartment he let himself in, hoping he wouldn't wake his host.

"I was about to give up on you."

So much for that idea. Quatre turned around the corner to look into the little kitchen that was probably never really used. "Sorry," he apologized. "The girls just wouldn't let me go," he flashed an embarrassed smile.

"Yeah, vicious creatures," Manul chuckled, bringing a cup of something out with him as the two moved into the little living room. The apartments weren't created to be accommodating to more than even a single couple. For one, it was probably about right.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said again, chuckling at the whole situation. "You probably didn't really need to know the whole family politics." Dropping his luggage next to the couch, Manul sat down in the chair, leaning forward to place his hands and cup on the coffee table.

"Actually… I was wondering if I could talk to you," he interrupted Quatre's little woe is me spiel.

Sitting down on the couch he was beyond the point of arguing with anyone after all of this. "Of course," he offered.

"Uh…" Manul began, moving one nervous hand through his dark hair. "I know this is kind of odd—well not odd—but kind of, uh…."

Quatre raised a tired eyebrow at the man. Typically one of the more speech proficient of the group, Manul was not only stuttering, but not looking at him either. "Is something wrong?" he asked, hoping to prod the man along.

"No," he answered quickly, looking up finally.

Quatre only gave him a look to continue and again his friend lowered his eyes to the coffee table.

"It's just that… well, it may not be traditional anymore but I…." He trailed out before looking back up and seeming to draw a little confidence from Quatre's worried look. "I want to ask Nashita to marry me. And I'd like your permission first," he quietly got out.

There was a silent moment before Quatre felt his grin rise and he found his voice again. "Of course you have it!" He about hopped off the couch, everything else completely forgotten. "Manul this is wonderful."

The other laughed, probably half from nerves and half from his reaction to it. Standing slowly Quatre caught him a full hug before he was all the way to his feet. "Thank you," he mumbled.

Moving back and holding the man by the shoulders, he laughed too. "You didn't need to ask me at all. You should know that."

Manul nodded, oddly enough a little embarrassed looking. "I was sure you wouldn't mind, but you are her brother and the head of the family," he shrugged. "I want to make sure I'm doing this right."

Quatre tried not to show it but his heart sunk a little in his chest at the words. He hadn't stopped to think about why his friend had asked his permission. But he was right. His father's permission wasn't accessible and Quatre, by default, was now the only one who could grant Nashita's hand by tradition.

Forcing that thought back he still hadn't wiped the grin off his face. The man in front of him was a little jittery, and probably rightly so. What could he possibly say to him? "So, when are you going to ask?" Good a start as any.

"I'm not sure yet. Things have been jumbled lately. But I want to before her semester gets too hectic," he hesitantly responded.

Quatre finally released him with a nod and moved back to flop down on the couch once more. "She still has a few years left of her schooling," he cautiously reminded him.

"I know," he responded, sitting back in the chair again. His attitude was smoothing back down again. "When I originally got the idea I thought I would wait to ask and then leave the wedding until after her graduation. But…" he looked back over at him, a lopsided smile making its way up, "I don't think I can wait that long," he confessed.

That seemed a little surprising to him, but Quatre held his tongue.

"It's just gotten to the point that I can't… I can't be without her," Manul apparently tried to put this into the right words. "I love her more than anything."

The two had come all this way in a year and half. It was amazingly heartwarming, but he was a little sorry that he hadn't noticed just how in love they were until now.

The feelings hit a little too close to home for him, but at the same time, he recognized how far away from that type of response he was with Dorothy. If he thought he was in love, maybe he really wasn't.

"It's like there's nothing else to do," Manul went on, mostly talking to himself. "Even when she's across town it's too far. It's not the distance," he shook his head, clearing it. "Anyway, like I said, I just want to do this right."

Quatre smiled again, tenderly understanding. "Well, I'm just the warm up. She's the one you have to convince," he chuckled.

Manul's expression slipped a little but he nodded. "I know."

* * *

She was breathtaking. Dorothy radiated an aura like an angel; the gown of pure white seemed to blur the light around her. Stepping up, she met him in the middle of the doorway with a smile. He offered her his arm and she took it with a wink before they turned to look down the aisle in front of them.

They moved along, arm in arm through the huge church's aisle, surrounded by flowers and bows. He picked out what he thought was the entire collection of Maguanacs on one side and chuckled at the couple of faces he picked out.

Before he realized it they were stopped at the end and Dorothy surprised him by brushing a kiss on his cheek before releasing his arm. He looked back at her as she smiled again and then moved to step past him. Blinking, he looked after her before realizing she was now taking the arm of another man. Both turned their backs on him and continued up to the altar alone.

He wasn't the groom; he was the one who gave her away….

Waking, Quatre blinked his eyes open and then had to remember where he was before he breathed again.

He could hear water from the bathroom, which was just opposite Manul's bedroom in the short hallway. He was already up and getting ready for the day. From the couch, Quatre couldn't tell what time it was, but he knew he couldn't have slept more than a couple hours. The couch wasn't the most comfortable and it had been late to begin with.

And then of course his subconscious just had to have him dream. Running through the images he found it was already slipping away, but he remembered with clear certainty the ending revelation. He'd seen her wedding, and knew it wasn't to him.

And, honestly, if they never progressed this friendship any farther he could actually see that happening.

He and Manul hadn't talked much more last night. The other seemed to have trouble putting his words together for his feelings and Quatre could more than understand that. Besides, he probably wasn't the ideal person for him to confide in.

That seemed to sort of go both ways. For a moment or two Quatre had wondered about confiding his own feelings to his friend. But it seemed he couldn't find a way to compare the two well enough. Besides, Quatre wasn't sure that Manual would see the complications and keep this secret to himself for that long.

Shaking that off he rose and went about trying to get ready for the day as well. Iria was probably already at the hospital since she had an early shift. Nashita would be headed to classes sometime soon he assumed. Aleigha he wasn't sure about, but if she'd made the trip it probably meant she had a couple days down time from her stock trader's position.

Leaving her and Dorothy alone in the same house would probably be fine but he wasn't going to take the chance. Not after a day like that.

* * *

She lay on the couch pretending to still be asleep as Nashita tried to tiptoe past her out the door, the same way Iria had three hours ago. Dorothy had taken the couch in the living room, against all three sisters' protests. It was a three bedroom house and she insisted that she was the one that didn't belong.

Nashita had adamantly offered to share her room with her, but their protests were nearly useless against a genuine negotiator. However, considering she didn't actually have much for overnight luggage, she did borrow a t-shirt from Iria since she was going to be sleeping in the most public area of the house.

Of course sleeping was the operative word with this arrangement. She hadn't managed more than a light doze all night. The four girls had arranged bedding and chatted a bit after Quatre left, but the two older sisters had turned in after that. Nashita had stayed to give her a light grilling about her brother.

She and Quatre had made the story that they had both been to visit a mutual acquaintance and, realizing that, he had tracked her down at the spaceport and had offered to take her home. When she realized he was supposed to be meeting the group of them, she insisted he keep the appointment. Which was true… mostly.

But Nashita wasn't one to want the cover story. She wanted what Dorothy couldn't give her. Namely, the relationship factor. Unless she wanted to blow their cover and inform the woman that her brother had been having a date with someone else last night, she couldn't really give Nashita what she wanted.

That was the oddity that kept going through her head. Jesimae Nickels. When Quatre had first started the story Dorothy was ready and willing to defend Miss Nickels. She'd worked her speech up to remind him that he had a young playboy image to start maintaining.

It had quickly died away. Quatre had not only been obviously uninterested but mildly upset by the whole experience. She didn't quite get it, being male she thought he should have responded better to a situation like that, but she supposed that was a personal preference thing. Regardless, she would be a lousy counselor if she pushed him towards something that she didn't think would be good for him, and he obviously didn't feel right with Jesimae.

But in the process he'd shattered her neatly laid out, little "Mrs. Winner" checklist.

And where did he get off getting a date before her anyway?

Granted, most days Dorothy resigned herself to a boring little gray future of marrying herself off to horny old men who would kill themselves off quickly with heart attacks and kidney failure and leave her wealthy beyond all imaginings, alone in her mansion with her fifty cats.

She didn't exactly have high hopes for a glamorous love affair. Just three or four mediocre ones. She'd bore easily.

But it was just the principle of the idea. Quatre was supposed to be her vicarious little charge. He couldn't skip from chapter two to sixteen before she found a suitable heroine to throw into his story….

One more of those trashy romance novels and she was going to start believing this crap.

But Quatre was the stereotypical whirlwind lover. Wealthy, important, kindhearted, passionate but innocent, possessive, giggle-worthily attractive…. He was perfect. All he needed was the charming little trying-to-be-strong but gushingly tenderhearted woman to walk into his life unable to pay the mortgage or something. And of course be beautiful and enviable by his side and raise all thirty of his adorable little children.

Dorothy was glad that Nashita was already out the door because she raised the blanket over her head and giggled at herself. Maybe she needed to ask the younger sister when she would start taking on patients.

But nowhere in her little love life planning did she come to the idea of Quatre… well, dating. At least before her. Dorothy should be settled into her first convenient marriage with Romafeller fallout tycoon number one, cat number three, and Swedish ski instructor Sven by the time the gossip columns hit onto Quatre courting a lovely little blond.

Dorothy really needed a new life plan. This was getting depressing. She couldn't ski to save her life anyway.

She'd keep the cats though. Maybe one particularly attitudinal Himalayan.

What was it about this man that made her always want to get a cat?

But her ideas weren't going to work if Quatre didn't cooperate. He kept attracting these feisty, plotting types, and Dorothy didn't appreciate that. Like she'd said, she enjoyed being the bad influence of his life. If he married one, she'd be out on her butt.

And she was here first. She had no intentions of taking her claws out of him. Any other conniving little nymphs would deal with her; the quiet sweet ones could take their chances with him. And Jesimae Nickels had just gone from nicely possible to blacklisted as far as she was concerned.

But he'd thrown her for a loop in their conversation though. She could see not being intrigued by the pushy type, or the overly opportunistic, but he should have responded better to the attention.

Maybe she was reading Quatre's needs wrong. She knew, and thought she understood, his story well enough. He'd spent a good deal of his life feeling a little starved for affection. She'd felt it in him before. Having someone thrown into his lap that was openly affectionate and excited to have a relationship with him should have been perfect.

Too much, too fast maybe. Yes, Quatre was sweet, but exceedingly dense. He'd need the time to grow into his affections. The trouble was that he'd probably never take notice of any woman who didn't either stab him or try to give him the guided tour of the closest broom closet.

Dorothy sighed and then rolled over, unburying herself from the blanket and snuggling a little farther into the couch. Poor Quatre. Maybe after husband number three chain-smoked himself to death she'd see if he was still single. He might be desperate enough by then.

…Maybe if she started now, Dorothy could learn to be—No. Not going to happen.

Besides, he deserved someone better than her. She was just backup. Someone to prod him along in life. She'd never be able to give up her taunting little role-play to keep him on his toes. And he'd never give up trying to patch all of the cuts she kept getting in life long enough to think of her as anything else.

They were like each other's pet projects. It was fun, and touchingly endearing, but not the basis for a real relationship.

Dearest Quatre. She'd do anything for him. All lackluster "proper" husband-planning aside, no one would ever fill the same place in her that he did. Dorothy knew that her feelings went deeper than scheming over marrying him off, but above anything she'd protect him.

Protect him.

Sighing miserably again, she rooted herself out of her, less than comfy, spot and kicked at her annoying covers that were trying to tie her up. Fantastic. She was cranky already and she hadn't even gotten out of bed yet.

The one glaring error in her sweet little daydreams was the fact that Quatre was, and always would be, one of the infamous Gundam pilots. Not only did she owe the man her life, in more ways than one, she had sworn herself to guard the identities and lives of those caught up in the war. No matter whatever happened between them, that meant Quatre too.

Part of her kept wanting to forget that, just throw away her work and efforts and find a way to disconnect herself from the fallen Foundation and her own ideals. But she knew she couldn't. Just as he could never fully leave behind what had made him pilot Sandrock, she could never abandon the fact that her blood had been squeezed from the stones of Chateau de la Brume Gris.

Every time she slipped and let herself get too close, she got a forceful reminder of that.

Marquis Wayridge was truly a noble man. He always had been. Much like Quatre, he was a decent and loving soul. She had gained a mutually respectful, and even affectionate, relationship with him over the years. When the idea of sending a representative to Miss Relena was first brought up, it was the Marquis who suggested her.

Meaning two things. First, that he found her as a suitable representative for the Foundation. And second, that he was masterful enough to know when to use a spy.

There were scores of girls that could have been taken from the boarding schools and given to this place of pacifism. Girls that would have been cute and wide-eyed and sweet and innocent and exactly like all the rest of the little sheep. But they sent her. And along with her went OZ's data exchange equipment, and Treize's personal files on the Gundam pilots. Just in case she decided to make good use of herself.

The Marquis understood, just as she did. And he still did. He had given her a specific warning. The others were questioning her involvement with Quatre. Not only her involvement, but her motives in this relationship.

Should too many of them get the impression that she intended more than a few "romantic" interludes, and instead that she somehow wanted to gain her hand into a man who could be a very dangerous loose cannon, with a private army to back him, they would decide to cut the link.

And the best way to do that would be to _slip_.

Quatre's public media-execution wouldn't take much if left in capable hands.

If she lost this position, she would be powerless to even help. And powerless was not a feeling that Dorothy Catalonia enjoyed.

Her one shining light in all of this was that the Marquis had thrown in his interest in the matter. Were she ever cut out of the loop, as long as she knew his support was still there, Dorothy wouldn't worry. _"Do I need to pity the poor lad, yet?"_

Smiling over the thought, Dorothy rolled over once more and snuggled herself back in. The Marquis may have been delivering a warning, but he was also, very teasingly, offering her his help. She'd understood that. She just didn't know what the man had in store for her.

Ah well. Dorothy was getting better at trusting people. Her sweet Quatre would be fine. And especially after this mess, everything she touched was as good as gold for at least a little while.

…She did suppose that she shouldn't inform the impressionable Mr. Winner that it was not specifically a Preventers order that brought her in on their assignment. He was a bit distraught over the idea of her being out showing a little leg for their intelligence gathering anyway.

Alright, _overly_ distraught about her showing a little leg for their intelligence gathering. He was so cute when he was trying to be disapproving.

Dear soul still needed a far less sadistic woman. One that wouldn't enjoy toying with him so much. Well, it hadn't hurt her yet, and Dorothy was just the type to enjoy getting that spark out of him.

That was another problem though. Marrying him off to the unsuspecting, sweet, orphanage schoolteacher next door could be hazardous to the girl's health. Not that he would ever be violent with a woman but Dorothy had just enough firsthand experience to know that Quatre didn't always have the same tender touch when his emotional currents got too close to the surface.

He would need a woman who could handle, not only his past, but that wonderful electrical fire inside of him. After all, the first time he scared the living crud out of a timidly shy girl and she slapped him for it, it was going to take Dorothy months of counseling to get him to call her again.

Snickering to herself she shifted again. She didn't know why she was still lying here. She could hear movement from upstairs so Aleigha was up already. Dorothy may as well get off the couch in case Quatre came early and caught her in little more than his sister's t-shirt.

After all of his problems with Jesimae the man would just faint.

* * *

These two weren't normal. Either they were secretly married, and Quatre was keeping it from the family, or they were both hiding something.

Aleigha sat very causally and observed the two. She had come down and made coffee when she heard the shower running in the downstairs bathroom. Quatre had shown up a little while later, and they had chatted while Dorothy got ready.

However, the Lady had unsuspectingly entered to rummage through her luggage, which was still beside the couch, not realizing they were across the double room at the kitchen table. The girl was at least dressed in a comfy pair of linen pants and a neat, fitted button down shirt. But her feet were bare, her hair was, somehow, up in a towel and no makeup lined her face.

Aleigha had started at her entrance, sympathetic for the poor girl being caught half put together. But she was a little confused when Dorothy greeted them both with a smile and neither one of the teenagers seemed the least bit fazed by the encounter.

Now, Aleigha remembered high school well enough, she wasn't that old. And she specifically remembered that she would have absolutely died on the spot if anyone saw her in the morning before her hair was dried and curled and she'd added at least her lipstick.

Dorothy not only didn't care, but ended up combing her hair out in front of them while the three chatted. Which was actually a mildly fascinating production. But neither acted like it was anything abnormal.

That was enough of a stray thought to worry her. But as Dorothy set about getting a comb through the wild mane, Quatre had politely asked if she'd like a cup of coffee. The poor woman obviously hadn't slept the best and gratefully accepted. By the time the younger woman walked back to her garment bag and pulled out a headband to finish her hairstyle, Quatre had stirred in sugar and cream and set the cup down at the place beside him.

How many "business associates" knew how the other took their coffee? Heck, how many friends could do that? She'd had the same assistant for four years and he still couldn't remember two sugar, no cream.

"Well, Lady Catalonia, how interested are you in seeing the mining dock?" Quatre asked as the woman came back and took a seat at the table between them.

"I don't know. How interesting is a mining dock?" she responded with a smirk as she took a sip of her coffee, obviously finding it to her taste.

"Not very," Quatre honestly replied.

She shrugged anyway, "Well, I'm just along for the ride."

He smiled at her but turned his attention back to Aleigha, who tried to remind herself not to be so suspicious. "What about you, Aleigha? Do you have plans today?"

No, she didn't have a thing planned. "Actually, yes. Since I'm here I'm going to run some errands," she responded instead. She didn't have to like the idea of the two necessarily, but she didn't intend to chaperone them either.

Whatever was going on, she didn't figure anyone was going to give her a straight answer anyway.

* * *

"Every man needs two women, a quiet home-maker, and a thrilling nymph." - Iris Murdock

AN: In case you all haven't noticed, I find it an oddly fascinating character study to know how people take their coffee.... Strange yes, but everybody needs a hobby. :) Anyway, this was for all who have been begging for a glimpse into Dorothy's side of things. I don't imagine it's what you were all expecting... (sadistically evil giggle)

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	34. Chapter 34

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 34

"And I thought the museum was bad," Dorothy commented as Quatre started preflight checks on the shuttle. "That's just a boring occupation."

He chuckled at her. "Boring is far better than the alternative."

Vaguely she nodded as she strapped herself into the copilot seat. "I don't think I understand what you guys did to the safety things," she mumbled. She didn't have a clue what she was looking at in the entire zero gravity dock, let alone what the group had done while they were outside. "But I don't understand why your Board was considering the costs. This isn't an especially safe job, is it?"

"No, it's not," he agreed, still flipping through the instruments with practiced ease. "And honestly, I don't know and don't care what the Board wants in that area. There hasn't been a new Resource Station built in sixty years. These things are old, and they wear out. Checking the equipment is the easiest thing we can do protect the workers."

"Easiest?" she looked over at him.

There was a mild frown that crossed his features as he moved through the preflight. "Individual error isn't something we can control," he quietly informed her.

Dorothy blinked but didn't say anymore. Mining of any sort was a dangerous job, and required strict concentration and specific movements. One hasty slip and someone could be hurt or killed. Silently she wondered how many accidents Quatre probably knew about. No matter what the cause, he would take it personally, and if there was anything to be done to prevent it, she knew he would.

A little worry crept into her thoughts. Rasid, Abdul, Auda, Ahmed, Manul, and many more of the guys were all here. Their jobs varied far more than the typical worker's. They were more of a floating crew, going here and there and doing whatever was needed. It was an excellent position for them, and she had gotten to see them brag about their work this morning as they happily fawned over her.

But they were still doing a dangerous occupation and she couldn't help but agree with Quatre that anything that could be done should be.

She tried not to show it, but she almost smiled at the turn of her thoughts. They were really rubbing off on her. Someday, she might just be able to think of herself as part of the group.

That would be nice.

* * *

"Stay."

"I shouldn't."

"Please?" she cooed, snuggling into his side.

"I should be back to the office tomorrow," he swallowed.

"You deserve a break," she whispered, nuzzling along his jaw line.

Quatre faltered, the feeling both familiar and exciting. Part of him knew he shouldn't stay with her. Part of him knew he should have kicked her off the shuttle as soon as they landed in the little backwoods receiving area outside of Lago Bonito.

Of course, part of him also knew that he'd give in to her for anything when she did this. …And most of him knew that as soon as he did, she'd stop.

"I've had a break," he reminded her.

"They can do without you," Dorothy continued, snuggling into his side. Standing beside the hatch controls, he still had one hand on the opening commands.

"Are you saying you can't?" he heavily suggested, breaking a chuckle and countering her efforts.

"Well," her tone changed as she backed away a few inches, "aren't we conceited this evening."

He turned to face her, dropping his hand from the controls. Circling her fully in a hug it felt so good to be here like this. It felt right to him, even if she was only teasing him.

Dorothy returned the hug, but pressed him back with the move until his shoulders were lightly pinned against the curve of the cabin wall. "Tell me you have to be back and I'll let you go," she quietly reasoned with him.

She was always one to understand what his position meant. Whether she judged his job to be more important to him than she was, or if it just didn't bother her, he wasn't sure. "Have to be?" he questioned, knowing she was backing him, physically and conversationally, into a corner.

Shifting, Quatre couldn't keep the shiver suppressed any longer as she brushed her cheek against his before whispering in his ear, "_Have_ to be."

He didn't even know he could be this trapped by a woman. "…No, not… _have_ to be," he worthlessly surrendered.

Backing off a little, her hug squeezed him tightly for a moment. "Then stay," she reasoned, returning to her far more friendly tone of voice. "You're already tired and you'll be flying alone." Dorothy placidly laid her cheek down against his shoulder. "I'll worry."

He wasn't tired enough to be of any danger to himself or anyone else, and he had certainly piloted a shuttle alone enough by now to do it in his sleep anyway. The show of concern, no matter how teasing he knew it truly was, brought a smile to his face as he just savored the feel of her for a second longer. "Alright," he caved.

"Fabulous!" she cheered. Instantly perking up she was out of his arms before the word was finished leaving her mouth.

Quatre hopelessly sighed, knowing his little vision of the lovely daydream had crashed back into reality again. "Why do you do that?" he half-whined at her as she began collecting her bag and her shoes.

Returning to him she raised a hand to caress his cheek and met his eyes. "Because I'm a sadistically evil woman who enjoys toying with you to no end." Dropping her hand again she moved back to the cockpit area.

"Well, at least you're honest," he bitterly sighed.

* * *

Locally it was past midnight by the time they closed up the shuttle and both ran for the receiving building at the end of the runway. The night was clear with a half moon, and it was freezing outside. Literally.

Punching in the pass code to unlock the underused building, they made it inside as Dorothy's teeth started chattering. Unfortunately the building had no need to be heated, so it did little more than cut off the wind from them.

Finding the keys for the car that were kept inside for landings like this, the two climbed in and had the heater on full blast even before she opened the garage door to start them out on their way. They were across the parking lot and onto the main road before she stopped laughing at him for huddling over the dash vents.

Quatre didn't mind at all. Some of the best memories of his life had her laughter for background music.

Looking out at the roadway, the faint moonlight highlighted the hills and valleys of the landscape. It seemed like so long since he'd been here. So very long ago that he'd first fought his own nerves and came to stay with her for a weekend. So much had happened between them since then, and yet—what was it—only eight, nine months at the most?

It felt like a lifetime.

A hand slipped over his that was resting on his thigh, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Something wrong?" Dorothy quietly asked, breaking the quiet that had stretched on for miles.

Flashing her a smile through the dashboard lights he shook his head. "No. Just thinking."

"About?" she pressed.

His heart caved a little, but he returned to his watchful scrutiny of the surroundings, propping his cheek up with an elbow on the window sill. "Us."

"Us?"

She sounded confused but Quatre did nothing more than turn his hand over under hers and hold her. "It seems like forever since I was here," he explained. "And at the same time…" he paused and finally turned to regard her, "I'm still nervous."

"Nervous?" She shot him a look before turning back to the road with a chuckle. "What in the world do you have to be nervous about?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. Turning back to the scenery, he continued his thoughts. "Maybe I just remember the first time I was here."

"Were you nervous? I suspected."

He figured she had noticed, even though he tried so hard not to show it to her. "I wasn't sure how to react to you. I've never been sure, I guess," he confessed. He didn't know if it was her, or the nighttime patterns, or what it was that made him feel safe telling her these things. "I'm still not."

"Am I being intimidating?" she teased.

"I'm finding I'm getting used to that, somewhat," he mildly relented and flashed her a smile before watching carefully enough to catch patches of snow lining the ground as they passed into the trees surrounding this section of the winding road.

Dorothy positively giggled at him. "Do you want to know a secret?" she softly asked.

Turning towards her, he studied the gray outline of her face in the lighting. "That you're sadistically evil and you enjoy intimidating me?" he guessed.

"And I always will," she nodded happily.

Shaking his head he leaned it back against his free hand. "I have to be only person in the Sphere who doesn't mind that thought," he muttered.

"Well, you are a bit odd," she reasoned, steering them around another corner.

With a smile and a silent chuckle he raised her hand in his and turned it over, pressing a kiss on the back of her wrist just to match her spitefulness.

"Quit that!" she squirmed with a ticklish giggle.

With a laugh Quatre let her hand go and she returned it to the wheel. "I am not odd."

"Sweetheart, you've taken a vested interest in me of all people. That does rank you among a very odd class." She threw a quick look at him, her smirk undimmed by the gray light. "You should be nervous."

Studying the blur of trees as they passed, he could only wonder at himself too. "That's not it." No, that wasn't it at all. This flighty little response in him wasn't anything like mistrust.

"You're serious." Dorothy seemed to just catch on.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, still unsure why he was telling her this.

With a shrug she didn't seem to have an answer to that. "Well, stop it. You're going to make me nervous that you're nervous."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only that doesn't make sense tonight." Quatre was beginning to regret that he brought it up. "You do have the tendency to affect people like that." He knew as well as she did that she enjoyed that fact.

"True," she hummed a second. "But this is you."

With a chuckle, he shook his head. "Does that make me special?"

The pause that filled in between them was almost palpable for a second. "Of course it does," she waved it off in her usual lighthearted manner.

But it worried him some. Had he somehow said that wrong? He hadn't meant anything by it. "I just don't know how to react to you sometimes," he repeated, finding that thought stuck in his head.

"It's my job to keep you on your toes." He was sure she was smiling as she steered them around another sharp bend in the road, a little too fast as always.

With a laugh Quatre believed that wholeheartedly. "I don't imagine that pays well."

"Fringe benefits aren't bad."

With a groan he absolutely gave up. "Why do I like you?" he teasingly asked her.

Shrugging she slowed the car and turned carefully back down the hilled driveway to her home. "Duo claims you're a masochist."

He balked. "Since when do you listen to him?"

"I don't," Dorothy chuckle to him. "I just thought it was funny."

As she stopped the car in front of the house, he sighed miserably. "I hope the two of you aren't still conniving over Heero and Relena."

"Why ever would we do that?" she innocently batted her eyes at him before turning off the car.

Sighing, he purposefully decided not to go anywhere near those issues. "Never mind."

The two yelped again as they opened their doors and entered the cold of the night once more. Grabbing their luggage, they raced for the door again and stumbled over each other getting into the house. Bags were literally tossed into the dark living room and Dorothy finally got the door shut behind them, laughing for all she was worth as she slumped against it and obviously landed to sit on the floor. In the dark, Quatre could only tell it by the sinking sound of her voice.

"Dorothy?" he chuckled, wondering what had gotten into her.

She only continued laughing and he cautiously picked through the luggage back a couple paces to find her. The moonlight coming through the two-story wall of windows in the living room was enough to pick out things quite clearly, but she was backed against the door in the one completely shaded place in the house.

"Are you all right?" he tried as he got close and tentatively moved his hands to try to feel her.

"I'm fine," she got out. Obviously she had a better view of him than he did of her, and she easily took both of his hands before he tripped over her.

"What is so funny?" he asked when she didn't seem to be interested in his attempts to help her up.

"I just remembered the last time we did this."

Quatre was at a total loss by now. "Did what?"

"Tripped over each other with the giggles," she still chuckled. "At the chateau, right before Rasid caught us like a couple curfew breaking teenagers."

"Uh, technically we are teenagers. And one in the morning was probably a bit excessive," he reminded her.

Dorothy only laughed again and then let him lift her to her feet. "He doesn't actually think… anything, does he?" she suddenly sobered, her hands still clasping his in the gray dimness surrounding them.

"Oh, I hope not," he honestly mumbled, trying to keep the image out of his head.

"You know, you only half told me the story about his little speech to—"

"No!" he cut her off. "I don't want to remember that." Specifically shaking her hands out of his he turned away.

"Oh, it could not be that bad," she reasoned.

"I could remind him that you may need a talking too as well," he threatened, collecting the bags that he could pick out on the floor.

The lights clicked on a second later, thoroughly killing his night vision. "No thank you. You have no idea how much bad locker room talk I've been privy to. I think I'm covered." She winked at him before taking her bag from him and slipping up the stairs.

"Locker room?" he asked.

"Well, I was the only girl on the fencing team."

"You were in their locker rooms?" he started.

"No," she stopped and turned to look down at him. "Usually," she added under her breath. "It's an expression, Quatre. What do you take me for?" She rounded again and haughtily continued up the stairs. "I just mean that I've been surrounded by guys a lot."

That only made him feel slightly better. "And you believed them?" he chuckled.

She stopped at the top of the steps and waited for him as he climbed up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, no," he kicked himself. "I'm not explaining this to you." Reaching her side, he flashed her half a smile and turned around the banister to start down the hall towards the last door. "Wait, where am I going?" he stopped, figuring he should probably have his hostess choose a room for him.

Turning back he found Dorothy with a raised eyebrow before she shrugged at the question. "Doesn't matter, your choice."

Eyeing the three open doors on the South side of the wall he shrugged too. "I suppose we don't have to be in opposite corners of the house," he mumbled coming back towards her as Dorothy started off for the only room on the North side. The master bedroom was situated above the kitchen and dinning area.

"Well, our chaperones are away for the evening," she purred back to him.

"This is going to be first thing the guys ask about," Quatre sighed, knowing he was going to be in for it if any of them checked to see if he arrived at work tomorrow. "I should have gone home."

"Oh, you can't just leave a girl like me all alone out here, can you?" she teased, opening her door and leaving it open as she walked in.

He rolled his eyes and then chose the room opposite hers, slipping in and turning on the light. It was laid out in the mirror image of the East room that he had taken last time. Now he had a nice ninety-degree view of the lake and the rocky cliff-side the house perched on.

It was still a view that he had to get used to.

Setting his bags down he stepped over to the sliding doors on the glass wall and took in the breathtaking sight of the half moon over the absolutely still waters below. Very, very still waters below.

That was odd. He knew the wind was blowing in moderate gusts outside. Finding a couple of the evergreen trees along the side of the house he confirmed it was still blowing enough to sway the branches. Staring back down, he wondered if the whole lake was frozen over. Granted it wasn't all that big as far as lakes went, but it was still good sized to freeze solid.

"Why shouldn't I have believed them?"

Quatre turned from the view to find Dorothy's curious expression walking into his room. With an unceremonious bounce she flopped, chest-down, on the bed. Propping her chin up with her hands she raised her, now bare, feet behind her and watched him for an answer.

"Believe what?" he asked, smiling at the display.

"The guy talk," she explained. "What shouldn't I believe?"

It was pointless conversations like these that he had to wonder why he ever got into. His smile slipped to a groan and he ran a hand through his hair before turning back to the view. "Why don't we just leave it at the idea that you can't always trust anything a group of guys come up with. I've been in too many of them and it's laughable."

"Oh, I'm well aware of needing to take things warily."

"Well, you're all set," he dismissed it. Getting into some topics with Dorothy was just not going to be good on his imagination.

Walking back, he moved to the edge of the bed and looked down at her as she tilted her head to look up at him, her elbows still propping up her chin. "Will you answer me something?" she wondered out loud.

Speaking of being wary…. "Same topic?"

"No," she chuckled. Tucking his hands in his pockets he nodded then. "I've been wondering about something, but I can't come up with anything. Your sister, Iria. Is there something you don't particularly care for with her?"

Quatre's breath caught harshly in his chest as he stood a moment, staring down in the calm gray-blue eyes. Icy. Their coloring so close to what he imagined the frozen lake below looked like. Gray, blue, violet.

Their light lashes fluttered a second and their expression turned from curious to concerned. "Darling?"

Closing his own eyes he turned his thoughts, wondering what and how much to tell her. "Iria will always have a special place to me," he began. "What makes you think I don't care for her?" Meeting her eyes again he wanted to know what she'd found to make anyone think that.

Dorothy already knew something was wrong, he could read it openly in her. Dropping her chin she moved to crawl up in front of him to sit on her knees. "You never really hugged her," she answered, studying him. "The other two you hugged easily when we got there, and Nashita again before we left. You and Iria barely touched."

It took an observant person to catch something like that. Nodding lightly he could see how she might have gotten that idea. "It's her back," he tried before realizing that she deserved the whole story.

Well, not the whole story.

Turning, he sat down on the bed next to her, facing out through the wall of glass. "Iria was nearly killed during the war. She broke three vertebrae in her lower back and knocked three others out of alignment, along with a couple fractured ribs. It took seven months worth of bone treatment and four surgeries before she learned how to walk again." Turning to her again, he added, "It still hurts her sometimes. I can usually tell."

Poor Dorothy was a little shocked. "Oh."

With a smile he realized again how much he loved this casual side of her. She was just open and natural, not fighting anything. No grand speeches, no tongue twisters. It was what he clung to as her true concern.

A concern that he didn't want to test, but Quatre felt the need nag at him.

Turning, he moved to face her, bending his knee up on the bed. "She was protecting me," he confided to the red of the woven bedspread between them. "I always seem to end up hurting those trying to protect me."

Dorothy scooted around to face him as well. He barely noticed until she leaned over so close he had no choice but to find her eyes. "I doubt any of them would complain," she softly stated to him.

All he could do was give her a little smile for the reminder. Truthfully, even though he wanted to forget it, she was now his most employed protector. But she was right. Iria, Trowa, any of the others, none of them would claim he owed them anything. He just knew he did.

"What is it?" she asked, raising a hand to brush his bangs back.

That little motherly concern of hers. Quatre wasn't sure exactly what to make of it sometimes, other than to know she cared. It was a nice feeling. A safe feeling.

Lowering his eyes from hers he tried to focus again. So many things bubbling up that they were hard to decipher. "Iria was the first of my sisters that I got to meet again. Oddly enough I somehow landed on the number three Resource Station, unconscious, after leaving Earth when OZ first started trying to convince the Colonies of their 'peace efforts.'"

There was a tiny chuckle and he blinked, looking up as Dorothy nodded to herself, her eyes lost in memory. "The gallant return of the Gundams to space." The little sparkle to her eyes as she turned back held the same mischievous admiration they once had. "The Singapore base?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Quatre didn't know why he was shocked. Of course Dorothy knew these things. She'd followed everything that she could, he was sure. "Yes," he nodded, the cold settling over him. "How much do you know?" he quietly asked, afraid for some reason.

She reverted back to her calmly curious side once more. "Anything Romafeller or OZ could offer, of course. Some things that the Treize Faction could get through. The remnants of the Alliance made a mess of communications through most of space though. By the time White Fang entered the arena it was a hopeless lot of propaganda," she shrugged.

Turning away, a dark stain spread against his mind. Perhaps then, she didn't know. Hopefully….

"Why were you injured?" she asked, thankfully not seeing the way his thoughts had turned.

Snapping back, Quatre opened his eyes again to stare at the bedspread. "Concussion. Exposure trauma," he listed, easily.

"…You were the one that self-detonated."

It wasn't really a question, more like her talking out loud as she figured something out. Looking up at her he nodded, finding her a little lost.

"They wrote you off for dead until Winner Enterprises reported the company falling to you. I guess I hadn't put that reasoning together." She nodded to herself, "Apparently no one took much notice until…" she sighed, "until I confirmed you at Miss Relena's school."

"All that time?" he whispered, feeling the weight lift some. "The moon base never reported me then," he added, trying to make sense of that.

"Under Tubarov?" she sniffed. "That man was always a pompous little worm. His end didn't come soon enough for anyone." The disgust in her voice was apparent. "His precious little dolls were the only thing he ever reported back to the Foundation. The bloody man hated the Gundams. Probably because he didn't come up with the idea first."

Quatre had never been so grateful to a dead enemy before.

Dorothy turned curious again. "If you were on the moon base, it must have been the same time Lady Une was shot. At least to Earth, you had simply dropped off radar."

He cringed at the insinuation. "I didn't realize that Lady Une had been shot." Quatre had been right then. Dorothy really didn't know that he'd built Wing ZERO, or that he'd…. Pain flashed through his heart at the thoughts. Pain that he was all too familiar with.

A gentle hand placed itself over his in his lap, startling him as he shivered at the memory before finding her worried eyes. "Your father," she quietly prodded, not really making it a question.

Yes, that part she already knew. He nodded, collecting himself again. "Iria treated me on the Resourse Station before she took me back to see my father. I didn't even realize until then that she was my sister. Father and I… still couldn't come to terms with each other. I didn't really blame him, I just wished he could have understood." Closing his eyes again he shook it off. "I wonder if maybe he did by the time it was too late."

He heard the slight gasp before her hand tightened over his. "Were you there?"

Again Quatre nodded. "Iria and I escaped the mob that all but ransacked the mansion and the office building. No one knew who we were. But when the colony voted to accept the OZ military control and begin to help produce mobile suits with the number one Station alongside, father took the whole block out of the dock. And…" he stopped.

"The colony took it as an act of treason," she supplied.

"They opened fire," he whispered, watching it again pass through his memories. "One person on an entire resource satellite, and they opened fire." Shaking it off before it got to him again, he swallowed. "Iria and I took a shuttle out to try to get to him before that happened. We were almost caught in the blast. She spared me and took the injury instead." Finding the precious, icy water of Dorothy's eyes again, he felt himself melt into her concern. "I thought I had lost them both."

Raising her other hand to his face, she brushed his cheek in the whisper of her touch. "I hadn't realized you were there."

"It was all too fast," he answered, squeezing his eyes closed.

"And without Sandrock, you went underground," she guessed.

_No. I went insane_, he mentally corrected, but those words wouldn't pass his lips. How could he possibly tell her? Fear clutched at him so hard it was painful to breath, let alone speak.

Softly he felt her move. Numb, he really didn't notice until her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she carefully pulled him into her shoulder.

It took a moment of battling with himself to move into her and wrap his arms around her waist. She deserved to know what kind of man she was comforting. She deserved to know the truth. He should at least have the courage to face the fact that even Dorothy Catalonia didn't know what he had once been capable of.

Once. No more. At least he prayed that was true.

Guilt raced through him as he clung onto her, tighter. How could he possibly claim to love her if he couldn't tell her what he was? But it terrified him to think of confessing to her that there was a buried piece inside of him that was nothing more than murderous rage. She should be warned what it meant to be close to him.

Warned.

Quatre opened his eyes, his forehead still resting against her shoulder as they awkwardly hugged each other in this position. She was always so scared that he would get too close to her, that she was the dangerous one between them. She just didn't understand….

And he didn't know if he could tell her.

As far as he knew, Trowa and Heero were the only two that realized what had happened to him. And it had almost cost them both their lives.

Something in him recoiled at the thought. His hold around her slackened, releasing her as he moved back, unsure if he could accept her comfort.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to bring this up again."

"No." Forcing a deep breath, he still didn't dare meet her eyes. "It's something I'll always deal with." Alone.

Before he could completely pull away though, Dorothy shifted back to her knees in front of him, taking his hands. "You told me once that I don't have to be responsible for what happened to my family because I couldn't help."

Yes, the last time he was here. The first time he had managed to actually give her a comforting word. The one time that he'd felt that the pain he was remembering now was… useful. The first time that he honestly knew there was a reason that they had found each other again.

Raising his eyes to find hers, he knew it again. "Do I need to remind you of the same thing?" she continued.

She was trying to be teasing, and with all his heart he appreciated it. Most people thought of her slides of tongue as cold or heartless. Quatre knew better than that. He could feel the concern in her. The feathery feeling of her affection was as aloof and sought-after as her touch was.

They were perfect together. They could calm each other's storms. He believed that with all his heart.

Summer and Winter.

With a shallow smile he closed the warm, sea blue of his eyes and nodded before clearing his thoughts once more. "Thank you." She'd never know for what.

"Oh precious, I only seem to make you have to relive these things. I'm sorry."

Reopening his eyes he couldn't have agreed. "It's helpful to have someone that already knows my past," he softly answered, remembering Trowa's advice to him about keeping her.

Dorothy seemed to give that some thought and eventually nodded to herself. "I suppose that's true."

With a smile he raised one of her hands and gentlemanly kissed her knuckles before she pulled away from him.

"I think I've decided I like your family," she randomly mused, leaning back to her normal position again with a little nod to herself.

Quatre sat and stared at her, completely losing the train of thought he'd been on. "Even after yesterday?"

"Especially after yesterday," she smiled. "Aleigha doesn't exactly care for me though, does she?"

He faltered. "I'm sure she…" he trailed out when the eyebrow rose. Why was he so bad at this sort of thing? "It's nothing personal," he tried again. "She's just a very leery person."

"Old maid, and all," Dorothy brushed it aside.

And he laughed before he felt guilty for laughing. "Not you too," he tried to chide her.

"Nothing wrong with that. Men are overrated."

He groaned at her, giving himself up to her randomness as usual, before rising to his feet again and walking back to the windows. "On behalf of my gender I will be offended by that."

"On behalf of myself, I'm not sure I care," she retorted with a chuckle. "Besides, some of you are better than others."

"See, now you're contradicting yourself," he turned back to find her lying on her side on the bed. "You can't lump us all into a category and then say we're different."

"You aren't different. You're all men."

With a laugh he crossed his arms and leaned back against the cool glass. "If you keep up that attitude you're going to be the next old maid," he teased.

She looked at him aghast for a second. "Quatre!"

He relented with a smile, happy that the conversation had turned light again. "Sorry, sorry."

"I think you'd be rather disgusted with my views of marriage anyway," she giggled for some reason.

Looking at her curiously, he didn't think he could honestly pass up a chance like this. "Really? And what does the Lady Catalonia look for in a husband?" he prodded, only half teasing.

With a perfectly evil laugh, she rolled over on her back on the bed, laying the wrong way over the red bedspread. "Preferably old with a bad ticker," she continued to giggle. "Family history of early heart attacks would also apply." Raising her knees idly she spread her arms out to take up the whole bed. "And a fondness for cats," she finished.

Quatre stared at her like she'd lost her impish, adolescent mind. "You have to kidding," he mumbled.

"I told you," she sing-songed.

"You can't possibly want that," he refuted.

"Why not?" she actually asked. "Everyone else has their cheery little view of the perfect man, why begrudge mine?"

"Dorothy, you're eighteen. And you're consciously desiring to be widowed early?" Why was he even trying to debate this?

"Oh, three or four times," she vaguely waved a hand around. "You know this is funny, I was just thinking about this last night. Managed to depress myself quite well, actually," she sighed.

"Three or four—what?" he started. "You're not serious."

"Why not?" Dorothy turned her head to look over at him. "Bald has never bothered me. Bad toupees bother me, but not bald. Besides, it would be so much less work to pick someone desperate."

Quatre could do nothing but chuckle at the obvious ruse she was giving him. With a shake of his head he figured he should never have asked. "You would never be able to fall in love with someone like that," he responded, knowing her at least that well.

"Love is merely an acquired taste for something," she explained, facing the ceiling again and closing her eyes.

Again he balked, finding that her tone had almost sounded resigned. "Dorothy?"

"Oh, I'm only half serious," she replied, obviously hearing the note in his voice. "Truthfully, I don't intend to dwell on it. The last thing I need is to have love hit me upside the head and drive me to doing something stupid."

_Like loving someone that you've sworn never to have a relationship with_, he mentally responded. That was a stab through the heart that he didn't need right now. "Sometimes you can't control everything," he admitted, hoping she didn't hear the note of guilt in it.

Rolling back to her side, she faced him. "When have you ever known me to believe that?"

Quatre smiled in spite of the nagging ache. Moving, he slid down the glass and sat on the floor against the doors in front of her lounging position. "Is that really what you want?" he asked, finding the cream carpeting interesting for a minute. "Where's that adventurous side of you that wants to fight for something instead of taking the convenient way out?"

Looking up at her, he noticed a little late that her expression was completely taken aback.

With a swallow he relented again. "Overstepping my bounds?" he asked, as she seemed to thoughtfully consider him.

"No, never," she absently brushed it off, still wondering at him. "But I think you're confusing us. You're the passionate one. I'm the control freak," she smirked.

That got a real smile out of him regardless of the topic. "No, you're not. If you were so completely controlling, you would love the Colonies and the static, mechanical environment. But you can't." He turned to the side and waved a hand around the glass walls of the room and the view beyond. "You're in love with the 'thrill of the changing seasons,'" he mimicked her words from so long ago. "You're in love with a challenge," he met her eyes again.

And she seemed to stall over the implications, possibly at a loss.

It was a picture he committed to memory because it didn't happen often. "That dual personality," he smiled at her. "Just don't sell yourself short."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow but then puffed out a long sigh. Flipping onto her back again she stayed there. "You know, my plan was a whole lot easier," she grumbled.

Quatre couldn't stop his laugh, but quieted again, focusing on the couple locks of her hair hanging over the side of the bed. "Some things are worth the effort." He knew they were. Now more than ever, he knew _she_ was worth any emotion or heartache. No matter what happened, he wanted to feel this.

There was an indignant little snort from the top of the bed. "One date and the bloody man is an expert."

There was the Dorothy he knew and loved. "I don't think I want to count that," he mumbled to himself.

"You hit a milestone, sweetheart. Be happy."

"It was a surreptitious situation. And what makes that any different from anything else?"

"Surreptitious? Doesn't matter. You called it a date," she refuted, one hand coming into view as she waved it off.

"So?"

"So it was a date."

"And why couldn't I call anything else a date?" he chuckled at her.

"You can't call it a date after the fact. It's a prior arrangement with mutual agreement and consent."

He honestly didn't believe he was debating the finer technicalities of teenaged dating with someone working on her law degree. "When do you take your bar?"

"I'm aiming for a test date the first of April."

"Ah," he mumbled. The room stilled as their conversation lapsed. Quatre still found it fun that the two could move from one pointless topic to something serious and back again.

These times, they were just friends. Nothing else between them to interrupt their focus. Somewhere inside, he knew he wasn't ready to give that up yet, even if he did believe they could be more. It held him back. Focusing again on the loose locks of her hair trailing down the dark spread, Quatre knew his fight would be to keep her. Her role as "friend" or "more" was going to be up to her.

Because even if he did break her defenses and convince her to give them a chance, he would forever and always have to fight to keep her. She wasn't a woman to be won.

A little smile crossed his face. It was just another losing battle.

"Would you forgive me for asking something completely inappropriate?" Dorothy began again.

Rolling his eyes he didn't imagine she would give him the option of refusing. Rising to his feet once again he chuckled at her. "Of course."

She eyed him a moment as he stepped up to the side of the bed. Laid out on it, the white of her blouse and the beige of her slacks only made her look all the more pale against the dark background. "Do you find her attractive?"

Quatre had taken her hand and moved her arm himself in order to find an empty spot to sit down beside her. Pausing, he didn't think to let her hand go and ended up holding it in his lap as he stared down at her. "Who?"

She rolled her eyes like he was supposed to have a clue what she was talking about. "Jesimae."

And he faltered. How was he supposed to answer that? "Attractive?" he stalled.

"Oh, don't bother trying to appease my feminine ego," she sniffed. "Just answer the question. Yes, or no."

Why couldn't this woman ever ask a normal question? "I guess…uh," he sighed, defeated. "Yes." That ended up coming out sounding more like a question than an answer.

If that troubled her at all, she certainly didn't show it. She only studied him a little more, and he suddenly became very self-conscious. Coming to something, she slowly shook her head. "I don't understand it. Did you like her at all?"

Quatre had no idea what she was trying to gain from this but shrugged at her. "I don't know. I was a little less than focused on charting her positive and negative characteristics."

"So do it now," she responded, giving him a patient look like she expected him to think long and hard on this.

"I'd really rather just forget it," he gave her a nervous smile.

"Oh, don't be such a cop-out," she sighed.

And he went indignant. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, if there isn't going to be a repeat date, I need to know what to look for in the next person I tease you about," she smirked. The set to her eyes was humorously maniacal.

And after the past couple days he was fed up with it. "I've had it with women," he announced, limply tossing her hand away from him.

And Dorothy broke out laughing. "You're going to have to wear more pink then," she teased, rising to lean up on her hands.

Why did it always come down to that? He'd stuck mostly to the boring whites and blues and grays for months now and it was just getting dull. "Alright. One bad question deserves another," he decided, aggravated at his own thoughts. "Why does everyone insinuate that I'm gay?"

It wasn't until he saw Dorothy's curiously amused expression that he caught up with what he'd just said. "Excuse me?" she asked, fighting a snicker.

Feeling the blush rising he turned away, stiffly rising back to his feet. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll turn in now," he muttered in a monotone as he did anything not to actually look at her.

"Go ahead," she seemed to shrug before he caught her lying back out over the bed from the corner of his eye. "I'll be right here when you're ready."

Apparently she didn't intend to move from his room, or his bed, in order for that to happen. He'd always figured she'd be a bed hog.

He did not just think that.

The blush, if possible, only got worse. "You know, I really should probably make it back for work tomorrow…."

Finally she just laughed at him, and he walked over and laid his head against the sliding doors. "Have I mentioned that I love it when you're sleep deprived?"

"Yes," he muttered, still not turning around.

"Oh, darling, please. No one thinks you're gay," she sagely counseled. "You've been listening to Catherine, haven't you?"

His breath had fogged over the glass by the time he opened his eyes with that remark and very slowly turned only enough to look back at her on the bed. "Catherine… thinks that?" he asked, the blush obviously fading out to a hopelessly crestfallen look. What did he ever do to Catherine?

"Of course not," Dorothy admonished. "She just…" she trailed out and blinked her eyes back open to look over at him too. "You weren't talking about Catherine, were you?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Dorothy?"

"Uh… yes?"

"Why would Catherine think that?"

"She doesn't."

"Then why would you think I've been talking to her?"

"Quatre, really, it was just a joke. I didn't think you'd take it so hard."

"Dorothy," he half-growled at her, turning finally.

"Oh, alright!" she huffed. "So she asked why I picked on you about wearing pink and I said that I didn't think your admirers were all one-sided, and she sort of took it as a… running joke." Meekly she turned to face him before rising back to propping her hands behind her.

Quatre didn't know where to begin. He stared in open shock at her until she cringed and then playfully batted her eyelashes at him. "All one-sided?" he muttered. "Why me?"

She had to turn away for a moment to control her laughter. "Darling, seriously. Think about it," she turned reasonable and moved to lie on her side to face him. "You're cute, rich and charming. The three finest qualities. On top of that you're intelligent, cultured, important, sensitive and caring. Making you the prime target for any woman aged fifteen to seventy-five. And then you're also polite nearly to a fault, gracious, musically inclined to beat the band—pun intended—and passionate."

The last part got a distinctive peeked eyebrow for a second and he did nothing but stare at her as she counted the list off on her fingers before waving her hand to dismiss it.

"Dearest, you're perfect. Of course people are going to say that. Women are going to think you're too good to be true, and men are just going to be jealous and try to make themselves feel better."

He actually turned to comically look around the room to make sure he was still the one she was talking about.

It made her giggle again. "And humility to top it all off with a cherry," she purred. Scooting over, she held out a hand towards him and motioned for him to come back and take it.

Without knowing what else to do, he did. He was still surprised when she tugged at him to sit down next to her, not releasing his hand as she rose to lean into his side. "Now, what's the big deal?" she asked, sneaking in farther. With a soft nuzzle against his cheek, she moved to his ear. "We know you're not," she whispered, almost getting a cringe out of him.

But he wasn't shocked that far out of his senses to miss one important factor. "Why do you sound so very sure of that?" he wondered out loud.

Leaning back enough to meet his eyes he almost shivered at the evil little glint to hers. However her only answer was a slight smirk and a happy little hum.

Oh, dear. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Would you rather I told you I did believe it?" she returned, lying back out on her side to look up at him.

"No. But you have that look," he accused.

"What look?" She innocently batted her eyes at him.

Quatre only gave her a hopeless expression for it, knowing far better than that. "Never mind." Maybe it was best that he didn't know how he'd embarrassed himself so completely in front of her. At least that's what he assumed her look meant.

Chuckling, she gave up. "What makes you believe any of these things? Sometimes you're honestly too insecure for your own good." She poked him in the arm a couple times for good measure.

He gave her a miserable look and shook his head. "I've managed to hear a few uncharitable remarks."

"You have a knack for that." She nodded against the hand propping up her chin.

"I know," he sighed.

There was a pause as Dorothy considered something. Knowing that look, Quatre only waited, resigned to be teased mercilessly by the lovely little siren. Blinking at him, a lopsided smile rose on her face. "This wouldn't have been around the time of the Christmas party, would it?" she distinctly asked, rising up again to lean on her arm at his side.

And he paled. "Office party," he corrected out of habit. Giving him a happy little look of expectation, she waited. And Quatre only closed his eyes with a wince as though he stood in front of a firing squad.

Her laugh started as a light snickering and grew gradually until it was absolutely uncontrollable. He just stayed quiet as Dorothy laughed herself silly. "I'm sorry," she tried, still not getting her air back.

She ended up wrapping an arm around his and laying her forehead against his shoulder as she tried to force herself to calm down. He should have known better than to get into anything like this when she was tired and had the giggles.

"You know," she almost sobered, "I think I know why I make you nervous."

Quatre turned to give her a weary look as she tried not to chuckle again. Staring her down, nose to nose, he narrowed his eyes in a mock-threat. "Goodnight, Lady Catalonia."

She opened her mouth to refute him, but then paused and nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. To his surprise though, she leaned in, pecked less than a kiss on his lips between chuckles before scooting herself off the other side of the bed. "Night, dearest," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out, closing his door behind her.

He would always love her.

* * *

"Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship." **- **Oscar Wilde

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	35. Chapter 35

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 35

"Miss me already, sweetheart?" Dorothy answered her phone. She should stop doing that. One of these days it was going to be Rasid or one of the guys just using Quatre's phone. That would be a merry mess to clean up.

"Miss Dorothy," Quatre sighed, "if you plan on making my appointments for me, don't you think you should at least add them to my schedule as well?"

She stopped, the folder in her hand falling back to her desk as she leaned back in her chair and turned to look out over the lake behind her house. He had only left her yesterday afternoon to get one day's worth of work in this week at the office, but she hadn't thought she'd screwed up his appointments that badly. "What do you mean?"

"I got a call from Heero a couple minutes ago. Which, admittedly, is a shock in its own right. But I had to find out from him that I was going to be at some fundraiser party for Miss Relena and the Minister hosted by yourself and a Marquis Wayridge."

She blinked. "I told you about that."

"No, you didn't."

"I'm sure I told you about that."

"No, trust me, you didn't."

Oh, no, she told Duo about that…. Well, crud. "Ah. Well. Yes, we're hosting the aspiring election hopefuls some time in May or June. They haven't graced me with a date yet. I told Relena we'd round up as many prominent Colonists as we could. I was sure I told you this," she added again.

There was a weary little chuckle from his end of the line. "No, you didn't. Regardless though, I'll need your information on it."

"Oh, why's that?" She propped up a hand on the arm of her chair, watching a swirl of birds flock in the distance over the lake. Spring needed to hurry up.

"I have officially been commissioned as lead Agent for the mission."

She dropped her chin and gave thin air an incredulous glare. "And what exactly constitutes this as a 'mission' that I need an officially commissioned lead Agent for?"

"You're putting Relena back on Romafeller soil. Heero's going to be worried, you should have expected that," he mildly soothed her. "It's nothing out of the ordinary."

"Isn't it?" she asked, not believing him in the least. "Agent Yuy has always had a noteworthy disdain for me. I suppose _that_ I should have expected."

"That's not true. Heero is just…."

"Paranoid?" she supplied with a smirk.

"Concerned," he corrected her. "He doesn't trust easily and you just haven't been on his good side enough yet."

"That's a nice way of telling me I did a lousy job of making friends," she grumbled at him.

With a sigh, he gave up. "Well, you can either be happy that you're stuck with me, or I can call Heero back and say I won't do it and you can deal with him personally."

There were a small number of fun possibilities that flashed through her mind at that prospect. "Well, you did say I enjoy a challenge," she hummed. There were some things that were beginning to nag at her about Quatre's latest little heart-to-heart with her. Not the least on the list was the idea that she'd been taking far too lenient a stand over her personal affairs.

"…Not exactly what I meant," he added, sounding confused.

"Joke, darling," she rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. If I must have a babysitter, at least he graced me with the most capable one. What do you need?" she sighed.

Dorothy could just imagine Quatre shaking his head at her with a smirk. "Well, I need an assessment of the security needs first. And knowing Heero, blueprints and layout sheets. What do you have planned for next weekend?"

With a defeated sigh she looked down at the stack of reading materials and contract assessments that she'd been putting off for a month now. "Apparently, I'm meeting you at the chateau." Mars was going to have to fend for itself a little while longer.

* * *

"I'll take your bags for you, Sir. The Lady should be here momentarily," the man bowed slightly and turned on his heel with Quatre's luggage in hand.

"Thank you," he softly called after him. For some reason he got the impression that the elder butler of Chateau de la Brume Gris didn't exactly like him. But he was sure that he was a nice man, probably just a bit wary about whom his mistress chose to see.

If so, he was sure that the man had his work cut out for him.

Squashing down the nervousness that plagued him about seeing her again, Quatre took an appraising glance over the newly refinished receiving room and found that Dorothy's aesthetic style was rather bold but classic. He shouldn't have found that as a shock.

Instead of the dusty red and gold printed wallpaper, the walls now displayed the soft luster of a dark green-blue paint. New drapes hung down the sides of the two windows on the outside wall, a print that used the same greenish color for a background, mixing in golds and burgundies with a tapestry feel. Both sofas were covered with the same fabric, and the four chairs used a similar material but showed only the burgundy and gold prevalent in the accents of the room.

The mantle over the huge fireplace on the far wall showed a collection of golden trinkets, from candelabras to small vases and expertly arranged floral fillers. Even the portrait of Duke Dermail over those had been reframed to match the color scheme….

A portrait that gazed back at him with every ounce of the cold, uninviting glare Quatre would have expected from the man, were he still alive.

Throwing a quick look at the door, he couldn't hear anyone coming. Shifting, he stood to full height and turned to face the painting, casually placing his hands behind his back and clearing his throat. _Good afternoon, Duke Dermail_, he mentally stated to the far wall with a little nod of respect.

The painting did nothing but stare unblinkingly back at him. For once, he really believed that Davonte was too good at his craft.

_Well, Sir_, he mentally continued, _I've come to see your granddaughter._

If Quatre hadn't known that he was having a mental conversation with a picture, he would have sworn that the thing narrowed its dignified but unemotional eyes at him.

He felt himself swallow involuntarily as he gazed up at the large, framed canvas. _She's truly a beautiful person, Sir, and I would… uh…._ Even his thoughts faded into nervous pauses. _I would… ask your permission, uh Sir, to…._ He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head as the canvas stared scornfully down at him.

_Yes, Sir, I'll show myself out now,_ he replied to the painting's accusation.

Physically deflated, he turned away from the eyes of the portrait before deciding to just cut his losses. Slumping miserably out of the room he took a glance down the hallways, still finding no sign of Dorothy.

Figuring she wouldn't mind if he wandered a little, he left the omnipresence of the Duke's painting and slipped across the hall to the music room. _No wonder she never dated,_ he quipped to himself.

Despite being a front room, the music room had been relatively untouched during the times he had been here. Dorothy would merely say that she wanted to leave it for last to decide on what to do with it. So, basically whenever he had seen it, it had been tarp shrouded and empty.

He paused at the first of the two doorways, his attention immediately drawn across the newly polished sheen of the marble floor to a grand piano set towards the opposite corner of the room. The sunshine from the patio doors behind it shone over the glossy, black lacquer finish, reflecting the grill on the doors in small squares.

Forsaking his scrutiny of the room, he moved his attention over the instrument as he slipped over and took a slow, awed lap around it. The deep edge of the box was shallowly carved with a pattern that one would only be able to decipher close up. Flowers and vines crept along the edge under the thick glaze of the lacquer.

It was a motif that extended down the legs of the huge piece, flourished by the bell shaped feet, as though it stood on only the inverted blossom of a flower. Walking around it he found the music stand shaped and embellished to form a trellis with the twists of the vines and flowers grown over it. The cover that hid the keys from view and the bench only enhanced the design in the manipulated woodwork.

It was fantastic. The instrument itself was a work of art before its music was even heard. This was not an average home décor piece. This was a stage piano, created to be displayed to an audience as much as its player. The idea that it was set in a private music room of a single owner was strange even for this particular house.

If he could ever fall in love with an inanimate object at first sight, this would be it. Taking a light touch over the key cover, his fingertips traced one of the carved vines along the surface. Exquisite.

Figuring Dorothy would accuse him of having a crush on the thing if she found him fondling her furniture, he turned to admire the rest of the room around it. Soft cream walls made it look larger, the two doorways to it and the two patio doors faced each other, letting in a good deal of light.

This was certainly a display room, this huge piano the centerpiece. The wall beside him, near the corner, held a foldout set of shelves. Closed, they probably resembled an ordinary cupboard, but opened, each door and the in-set middle section provided storage selves, most likely for music books. However, the opened display now held picture frames, no two alike in the entire collection.

Stepping away from the instrument Quatre admired the wide display. On the left and right, Dorothy had seen fit to house her own personal collections he figured. In the center, main section, an illustrated family tree of sorts was displayed.

Along the top self was a row of four couples, all but one depicted in their wedding attire, the other probably at an anniversary. Below that stood two larger frames, both again wedding photos, and around these were scattered smaller family photos, the years depicted by the ages of the two couples and their children. Below these, on the most open shelf, stood a wedding portrait that Quatre didn't need any help identifying.

Behind the mat and glass a man and a woman stood posed close together, their bodies facing each other. It was the man pictured that first drew Quatre's eye. He was tall, comparatively at least, obviously of an athletic build underneath the uniform he wore. But it was the center-parted locks of platinum blond that caught his attention first, and then he noticed the clear, pale blue eyes that stared back through the years at him.

The resemblance was uncanny as Quatre stared at the image. Dorothy really was her father's daughter in every way.

Almost every way, he corrected as he turned again to the woman beside him. There could be no doubt that this was her mother, as she had obviously adopted her eyebrows from that side of the family. Quatre had to keep himself from laughing at the thought as the beautiful young woman smiled disarmingly back at him. Deep blue eyes looked out and a pile of chestnut brown curls topped through the crown and veil on her head.

A veil that seemed familiar. Looking back up a row, he noted the same veil being worn by another woman. Looking closer, he discovered it was also the same dress. So, that would more than likely mean….

The photo was deceptive at first since he hadn't recognized Duke Dermail at all, but there was no mistaking it now. Of course, this was probably at least thirty years before the portrait in the other room was done.

Suddenly the trend seemed to come into focus for him as he stepped back a pace to take them all in. From the top four photos down the men were all attired in their dress, military uniforms. All were handsome, young men and all stood beside an especially beautiful wife draped in traditional Christian white gowns… three with the same veil, he finally noted, although only two with the same dress.

The family tree held all brunettes through the generations although some were fairer than others, except for Dorothy's father, who stood out among them. Closing back in he took more interest in the smaller photos around her parents'. He was amused to discover that Dorothy's hairstyle was also copied after her mother's. There were some of each parent by themselves, only one other of the two alone together, and a handful of images with their precious little girl.

One in particular held his eye. The image captured father and daughter, as the man held her in his arms. A little Dorothy of probably four or five smiled back, her eyes closed as she hung on her father's neck. He in turn had most of his face hidden behind her hair but his eyes smiled back to whomever had taken the photo.

There weren't many images, but they all appeared happy. None of Dorothy's stories that he knew had taken place during these times, the only ones she told were all while under her grandfather's care. He wondered at that now. She couldn't have been more than six in the latest picture here. Had her parents died that early?

Putting that thought away he gave this section a last look before moving towards the left side. The images here were all newer, seemingly skipping several years until she appeared at probably thirteen or so. All of these images depicted the same thing. Dorothy and Davonte, oddly enough.

The shelves were cluttered with photos of the two, all looking professionally posed as they displayed different costumes. At first, he assumed they were all the same thing. Perhaps the two had attempted modeling early on. But looking closer he noticed a distinct time lapse as his eyes traveled down the shelves.

Dorothy, literally, grew up before him. The last photo depicted her just as he remembered seeing her the first time in Sanq. So, they were just usual events then. Costume balls perhaps? She had told him before that she was very used to designing her outfits.

Looking at them individually he noted with a smile that the two must have always been so close. Davonte hadn't changed much. He still had neat kept features, except for the long piece of his hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Piercing, honey brown eyes looked back and his smirk was a perfect match to Dorothy's.

Kindred souls. Quatre was well aware of that.

And their poses proved it. Some were typical, standing together images, but the farther down he looked, the more adventurous and… risqué the couple appeared. The first on the bottom shelf depicted the two obviously in Dracula-style costumes. But Dorothy was literally laid in his arms, her gown bare shouldered and a bit extra low cut. Davonte leaned over her unconscious looking from, fang-type teeth bared over her neck and looking directly into the camera.

The exaggeration on the cliché was actually beautiful, even if it was supposed to be gruesome.

The rest of the frames held anything, from other obvious storylines to bizarre placements. One comically had the two standing back to back; Dorothy purposefully displayed standing on top of a stool to appear the same height as Davonte. She was in an all black suit with a white tie and he in an all white one with a black tie. With their hair colors, both back in the low ponytails, it was even more dramatic of an effect.

It was comical to observe this section. He somehow felt that he was spying on her, but obviously Dorothy was proud of these images, having them set on display like this. The collection made him smile just looking at it. He could tell that these were good memories to her.

But nothing new though. Nothing that would have been taken after the war he suspected.

Moving to the right side he found a random assortment of photos, some posed, some not, but all from her middle and high school days. Figuring that out was easy as he stared at the first photo his eyes had fallen on. Dorothy stood flanked playfully by Andrew and Byron, all in school uniforms.

The guys wore high, collarless jackets of royal blue, cut long over matching slacks. Dorothy in the middle wore a white blouse, also collarless, but with ruffles down the center buttons. Long sleeves ended in flared cuffs that peeked out in the line of sight of the photo. But her skirt matched the blue of the boys' ensemble.

And it was short.

When she had told him that the school opted for short uniform skirts, he had pictured knee-length instead of Miss Relena's three-quarter length that she had at her Sanq Kingdom school. But actually, the blue, pleated skirt fell to just below mid-thigh on her, and with Dorothy's build, that left a substantial amount of leg showing.

Forcefully moving on, he scrutinized the three, finding that each had an arm around her waist and she was doing the same. The photo was candid somewhat, since none of them seemed to be paying attention, but smiling amongst themselves.

Looking through some of the other frames he saw that the two boys were common through the images of high school. Including the two, yearbook quality, frames of her beloved fencing team on the middle shelf. Dorothy and Andrew stood in the center, tipped to face towards each other as the rest of the team angled out from there. The two co-captains, he remembered.

Quatre scrutinized the picture, focusing on Andrew Varnhem. A sandy blond with dark eyes, brown from what he could remember of their meeting. At the time this was taken he stood three, maybe four, inches taller than Dorothy. He'd grown since then, Quatre knew. Classic military physique, broad shoulders, V shaped torso although he was shorter through the middle, long legs—he was a fencer after all—with chiseled, hard lined features.

_I bet she never called him adorable,_ he bitterly added to himself.

Bryon stood next to Andrew in both shots, showing that the two were as inseparable as Dorothy had commented on them being. It only made Quatre wonder again at how much he should have read into the _friendly_ fencing match he'd talked him into. Well, that was over now regardless of what was won or lost.

Looking down his eyes fell onto a frame that truly stopped him. Dorothy and Andrew were pressed together, cheek to cheek in the closely taken photo. Enough of her shoulder was visible to tell that they were both in the white of their competition uniforms. They both held tight smiles and laughing eyes, as though someone had told them to try to look serious when they weren't.

They really had been close.

Turning away from that thought, he looked through the images again, but still found they depicted only the same time period. Nothing new and nothing from somewhere between six or seven until twelve or thirteen. It seemed odd, but anything could account for that, he assumed.

Looking back to the middle, something did catch his attention. Andrew, Bryon and some of the others that were captured all wore their school uniforms in the majority of the shots. The men in her family were all married in their dress, military uniforms as well. The legacy of Romafeller played out before him as he stood to notice it.

Passing down a dress or a veil was one thing, but finding a suitable husband meant finding a uniform, complete with rank insignia.

Except now…. There were no more uniforms. The closest thing these men could get would be a Preventer or Police wardrobe, and no officer would think of being married in that. At least he didn't believe so. And if they did, it still wouldn't compare to these.

Dorothy wouldn't be getting her soldier.

She was honestly going to be the end of her line. And if she dared to marry outside of the Romafeller ranks, these portraits would turn their backs on her.

Lady Dorothy Catalonia, bred from the grace of the former European royal bloodlines and the best of the military's elites… and their legacy would die with her. Her children would never know how to appreciate their mother's family pride.

Quatre turned away, not necessarily wanting to think on those thoughts any farther. Especially not with the displaced images and feelings he'd gotten recently.

Looking across the smooth black finish of the piano something else caught his eye. He hadn't noticed it when he entered, since he had been concentrating on the instrument before him, but hung on the opposite wall was a huge painting, probably seven feet long and five feet tall. From across the room, the figures depicted almost seemed life-sized.

But the style was one he was getting very familiar with.

Quatre stood staring at the image, knowing what it had to be. The focus of the painting was three people, two men on the sides, in black tuxedos, and a woman in the center. All three were showing only their backs to the viewer, but it was obvious what was going on.

The woman had her hand on the right man's elbow as though she was being escorted into the elaborate ballroom setting beyond. But she had obviously stopped her date as he watched her lean over beside her to speak into the other man's ear. She had her left hand on this man's shoulder and he bent to let her whisper to him.

Her positioning was natural, but her attire was what brought it out. The woman in question wore a Chinese style dress with capped sleeves and very form-fitting lines. Slits ran up both sides of the pale, golden colored dress, higher than he would have thought appropriate. With her posture leaned in towards the other man, the right slit exposed one long leg all the way up to just a few inches shy of her posterior.

The patterning on the dress was impressively done as colored cherry blossoms raced around her. But the fine detail was done in her hair… extremely long, platinum blond hair. The woman had it sectioned in two and looped and twisted on the back of her head to resemble a knot-button closure that should have been found on her dress instead. The elaborate threading was accented on either side by a gold tassel that hung down along with the two ringlets of her used hair.

The display was phenomenal. The detail was infinitely accurate. His eyes were literally swimming over the paint and his feet had taken him across the room without him knowing it. Stopping close, he quickly scanned the bottom of the frame and found what he was searching for. The nameplate at the bottom—as expected—read _Davonte Fellentain_.

And the name of the painting was simply, _Coy_.

"He swore that no one would be able to tell."

The voice startled him as Quatre turned to the doorway to find Dorothy comfortably leaned against it. How long she had been standing there, he didn't know. "Tell what?" he asked, forgoing any standard greeting.

She raised an eyebrow and looked from him to the painting and back again.

And he turned to look up at it once more, catching her meaning. "That it's you?" he guessed.

"Always so astute," she teased, walking in behind him. "I tend to feel sorry for the man on the right whenever I look at it."

Quatre let her wander where she would as he tossed the idea around in his head. "I don't," he disagreed.

"Really? And why is that?" she asked, her question sounding more indulgent of him than curious.

He stared up at the canvas, taking in the position of the woman and her hands on both men. "He knows she's coming back," he quietly answered. Even if taken for granted, her escort knew that he held her arm for the evening. "It's harder to know what you can't have," he softened, giving the left man a sympathetic glance.

"Well," she broke back into his thoughts. "How depressingly philosophical."

Quatre bowed his head and shook off the feeling with an embarrassed chuckle. Turning, he found her seated on the piano bench, watching him. "Sorry," he smiled.

She lost her typical scrutinizing look and rolled her eyes at him instead. "So, no chaperones this trip?" she asked instead, easing into her casual demeanor.

"No," he agreed, walking back to her and the piano. "I guess I have them all too busy again."

"As they should be," she waved it off. "Ah well. So, interested in the tour, Master Winner?" she asked, standing to her feet again.

"Yes," he easily stated, still staring at the piano. "Starting with this please."

Dorothy giggled at him but came to slip up to his side. "This would be the piano," she stated the obvious. "Which sits in the music room." She paused for effect. "Moving on?"

Shaking his head he looked over to her and motioned back at the thing. "There has to be a story behind something like this," he admonished.

"You're as bad as Davonte and that stupid angel," she gave him a confused look and then focused on the piece again. "Story? I have no idea actually. It's always been here," she shrugged. "And the story I have isn't really pleasant."

That caught his attention as he looked at her, still gazing softly at the near mirror finish. "Dorothy?"

It didn't do a bit of good apparently as she only seemed to seep further into memory. Stepping forward she laid a gentle hand on top of it. "I told you once that my mother was the musician of the family, didn't I?" she asked, her voice soft, but unhindered.

"Yes," he agreed, unsure of whether to stop her from going into this or not.

"This was her pride and joy," Dorothy responded as she began a very slow walk around its edge, tracing her hand along it. "Mother performed professionally as a concert pianist before she was married. Perhaps a little afterwards too, I'm not sure. She was very talented, it was her highlight, so to speak."

Quatre watched, on guard for a break in her speech as she inched a little farther down the side of it.

"She would play for anything. I can always remember her at the piano whenever we had an event of some sort here. And when no one else was around, she would play for herself, almost every night." Dorothy paused and looked up towards the second doorway. "If I was quiet enough I could slip down here when I was supposed to be asleep, and enter on my hands and knees, crawling in a straight line so she couldn't see me over the music stand."

Turning back to the piano she looked down at it. "And I would crawl underneath and lay down on the floor where she wouldn't know I was here, and I would listen to her play." Smiling she glanced back at him, "You wondered how I learned my classics."

He returned the smile at the cute image, but he could see the sadness buried deep in the pale violet eyes. Eyes that he knew now were a close copy of her father's.

Dorothy paused and continued to brush around the edge, running a loving hand along the pristine finish. "I could always tell her moods by what she played. "Raindrops" was her favorite though, at least that I remember. She was a purely kind-hearted person. Genteel to a fault."

She stopped again and Quatre waited, afraid for what was coming.

But Dorothy moved on, rounding the edge and starting her caress down the other side. "For some reason I really don't remember much from around my father's funeral. I was only six, so I suppose that's normal," she stated easily, but the comment froze in his chest as he listened. "But what I do remember is that mother… never played after that."

Pausing again she looked out through the patio door, lost in thought.

"I can remember clearly hearing someone ask her to play something—anything—once, months later. And all she said was that she just couldn't. She was too out of practice." Closing her eyes on the thought she moved again. "I knew better. She'd already told me that she didn't have the heart anymore… when I asked her to play."

The wave of grief hit as Quatre stared at her as she outwardly recited the events in a calm manner.

"In a year, I could barely recognize her any more, even when I did have to be near her. She meant next to nothing to me anymore. At that age, I didn't realize that a person could decide that there was no point to their life after something like that. She… lost her mind," Dorothy seemed to confess. "So, she took a car, drove down to some river bed somewhere, laid down on the shoreline and let the whole bottle of her anti-depressants take their course."

She continued on in silence a minute as she brushed her hand over the piano still. "When we returned from the funeral, I remember walking in the front doors, and down the hall. But when we passed this room, I noticed someone had finally covered the piano in a white sheet, since it hadn't been touched in so long. And that cover sat like a shroud in here for eleven years."

Making it to the front corner of the instrument, she turned and dropped her hand away, moving to face it. "It wasn't until the night of Davonte's showing, after Andrew walked out on me, that I even set a willing foot inside this room again." Taking a breath, she blinked and seemed to come back out of her childhood memories. "For some reason, I looked at this, white covered, thing and just couldn't take it anymore. I tore the sheet off of it and determined that I was sick of skirting the issue."

Looking up she found his stunned eyes, but softened at the expression she had to have read in him.

"I'm sorry. You've just arrived and here and I am being depressing," she quirked an eyebrow at him.

Quatre stood shocked at her, absolutely uncomprehending of how she could deal with even telling that story, let alone living through it. He had known that her father died in battle, and he had a large group of hints about her mother's fate, thanks to the snide criticism of her cousin Marcus Delmare as she talked him into admitting his plan on Mars.

He had never dared to ask her about it. "I'm sorry," he whispered, ignoring her attempt to ease the situation.

Dorothy saw it and turned back to the instrument in front of her with a shallow smile. "It's alright. Mother and I are still learning to come to terms with each other," she stated softly.

"Terms?" he blinked.

She mildly shook her head, "I hated her."

"Hated her for dying," he stated to himself mostly, understanding only too well the stages of grief.

"No," she refuted quietly. "Hated her for being so weak. For giving up my father's memory. For… betraying him by being a coward and taking the easy way out. Wasting her death for nothing."

Quatre felt a shiver physically go down his back at the harsh words spoken so deadpan. He tried to say something, but he couldn't force anything out.

She beat him to it. "It's taken all this time for me to figure out that her genteel kindness wasn't the disease that drove her to it."

Very slowly he moved, soundlessly easing towards her as she stared down at the key cover.

"She just had no way to heal a broken heart in this house. And instead of help, they gave her pills and expected it to go away," she whispered. "And I only made it harder."

Reaching her side, Quatre softly laid a hand on her shoulder. She responded, tilting her head towards him, but she didn't look up. Instead he moved to turn her around to face him, bringing his hands to rub over her shoulders and up to cradle her face as he stepped in.

Dorothy still didn't look up but hollowly watched his shirt as he watched her face in front of him. "Looking back, she probably believed the same thing I did at first. That father had gone off and gotten himself into a battle he couldn't win, just because he didn't want to be here."

He shook his head, even if she wasn't looking at him. Quatre knew better than that. He understood better than that.

"I learned though," she finally blinked. "I don't think she ever did." Looking up finally, she met his eyes. Sad, but the hollow sorrow that he was expecting wasn't there. "I don't think anyone ever tried to tell her that it was because he loved her, not the other way around."

He held her eyes for a long moment, somewhere inside thankful that she understood that. "Both of you," he whispered to her.

A tiny light of a smile entered her eyes and then she nodded in his hands before looking back down again. "I know. But sometimes that only makes me feel responsible."

Responsible. Her father had died as a soldier fighting for what he saw as protecting his home and family. His two girls.

Quatre's father had died to take away the necessity of his fighting for the same reason.

Neither the protector nor the protected ever truly understood the other, or how they affected each other.

Dorothy was trying so hard to be both.

He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks, getting her to lift her face to him again. He watched her eyes, but the sadness in them was natural, it was the engulfing sorrow that he wanted to make sure wasn't there. That was what he was afraid of in her. It was what he was afraid of in anyone.

But it wasn't there. She had come so very far from the hollow woman he had fought on _Libra_. So very far.

Gently he eased in and tenderly held her face as he pressed a kiss to her lips. He demanded nothing from her, just wanting to warm her again from the cold of the memories. Somehow, he knew she'd accept it.

_I cannot replace a father or a mother… But I'm here… Please, take what you need from me. _The words seemed to echo disjointedly in his head although he had no idea where he had picked them up from. It didn't matter. She returned the touch easily and gratefully. Her hands moved to his sides as they parted from each other and she slipped in to hug him. Quatre retuned it, wrapping his arms tightly around her and keeping her close.

"I seem to make a lousy tour guide," she whispered from his shoulder.

And he broke a grin despite himself. There were so many unique characteristics to her that he loved. "My fault," he stated, before guiltily pulling back from her. "I didn't mean to pry."

Dorothy slipped out of his arms again with a shake of her head. "You didn't. But I probably didn't need to share. Now you're only going to worry and ruin your visit," she tried to pout.

And he chuckled at her for it. "It's my nature to worry. You should get used to it."

To his surprise she smiled but then stepped back, running her hands up his shirt and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, nearly bumping noses with him again. "May I ask a purely indulgent favor from you?" she whispered, her eyes still only half-mischievous looking.

"Anything," he whispered back, meaning it completely right now. That seemed to throw her for a second as she searched his eyes, for what he didn't care.

"Would you play something?" she finally asked.

Quatre was a little surprised by that but nodded easily. "Of course. What would you like?"

She shook her head and moved away. "Anything at all. I had this thing tuned months ago and then realized that it was rather pointless." Running a hand over the cover, she moved it up and deftly slid it back into place to reveal the ivory keys. "No one else I know can play it."

Stepping up he took her hand and tugged her down onto the bench as he sat down himself. She didn't seem to mind and scooted to the edge to give him more room as he stared at the keys for a moment, trying to think of something appropriate.

What he came to was something that he hoped she wouldn't recognize, or if she did, that she wouldn't take offense to. "You're going to have to excuse me if I don't do this from memory all that well," he cautioned, but she brushed it off.

"If I wanted perfection I would have let you practice," she teased.

He flashed her a smile but started in anyway, the notes beginning low but branching into a more extended reach over the keys as it progressed. He cringed more than once at a wrong set of notes as he fought to remember it from so many times that he'd picked it out at home… always with thoughts of the woman beside him in his mind.

Half the time he never finished the song but tapered into his own thoughts during it.

The music slowed again, the underlying tones soft and low as he ended. "Not exactly concert pianist quality," he chuckled at himself, more than a little embarrassed by the performance in front of her.

"It was perfect," she stated anyway, giving him a smile when he turned to see if she was serious. "What is it called?"

Quatre blinked and turned back to the keys, trying to mime looking thoughtful. "I'm not sure," he answered. Mentally he corrected himself, _"Falling in Love."_

"It's pretty."

"I thought so," he added to get his mind off of it.

"…Thank you." Looking at her he noticed the uncharacteristic humility of her. "I do appreciate it."

He understood that she meant for more than just the song. And even though later he was sure he was going to berate himself about his reaction to her, it had been what he felt she needed, regardless of his feelings for her.

Looking back down at the keys and then over to her again he found himself coming to an idea. "Would you like to learn?" he softly asked.

Dorothy started, obviously not expecting that. Looking from the keys to him and back again she seemed to lose herself in the question. "I… I'm not sure," she mumbled. But he didn't press and finally she looked at him and seemed to come to a decision. "Are you willing to teach me?"

And he smiled. "Of course I am."

"What do I have to lose?" she agreed grudgingly.

Scooting as far to the edge of the bench as possible he moved in order to straddle it and tugged her over to center her over the keys. Taking her hands he specifically positioned them over the keyboard, first explaining that her notes were starting from her right thumb on C.

* * *

Dorothy didn't know how long they played around at her lessons, but by the time the sunlight was beginning to redden and fade from the patio doors she was picking out "Mary Had a Little Lamb" quite well, if she did say so herself.

She knew her notes already; so reading music to be able to practice wouldn't be hard. She also had a finely tuned ear as well, making it that much easier to pick out when she had her fingers on the wrong keys.

"So what do the pedals do?" she asked as Quatre finally rose to his feet and stretched a kink in his back.

"That's a second lesson question," he chuckled at her.

Nodding up at him she smiled. "Agreed." Running a final, tender touch over the ivory, she gently lowered the key cover again before rising to her feet as well. "We were supposed to be working this weekend, weren't we?"

"You tend to make a good distraction," he teased, pacing away from her towards her little collection of photos in the wall cabinet.

It had taken her days to put that display together. It would be a shame if no one would notice it. Somehow she figured her darling Quatre would find it of interest.

She watched him study the frames for a few moments, tucking his hands in his pockets. There were times when Quatre reminded her of her father. At least the idealized image she had of her father when she was six. A protective soldier who would give up his home in order to keep the battles away from those he loved. That was about as far as the similarities went, and she didn't dwell on trying comparisons.

Quietly she slipped over behind him, gently sneaking her arms around his waist. She stood behind his back and just breathed him in for a second, acknowledging the gentle calm that he always tended to inspire in her.

She didn't mean to let something get to her like this. And she certainly didn't mean to seem so needy of him. But he had surprised her. Dorothy was used to his comforting; the easy, caressing nature of his words had smoothed over more hurts in her than she could name. Most of the time it annoyed her, but she couldn't deny it.

This hadn't been the same. He was learning her tricks too well, she assumed. His tender kiss was merely warm and sweet, nothing of the passionate streak she knew he possessed. It was a simple concerned show of affection, and in truth, she could never claim that she hadn't wanted it.

How did he know her so well?

She felt him move a hand from his pocket to gently move over her arms, keeping her there. "Are you alright?"

Part of her wanted to say no just so he'd turn around and pull her into a real hug and let her stay there….

Oh, gag. This was so sappy it was pathetic. If she went anymore girly on him she was going to have to take him shopping or something.

"I'm fine," she returned, releasing him and mentally beating her head against a brick wall.

She hated it when he made her go all mushy.

Looking through her neat little collection of frames, she was rather happy with the way it turned out. "This was rather therapeutic," she switched topics.

"I imagine." Pointing over to the left side, he gave her an odd look. "Costume parties?" he guessed.

Dorothy turned to the stack of her and Davonte's portraits. "Art showings," she explained with a laugh. "It's typical for guests to dress according to the theme of the show." With a snap she started off for the den a few rooms down. "Hold that thought," she called back.

Jogging along, she quickly retrieved her newest addition from where she'd just put it into a frame and happily moved back to the music room, flipping on the light as she entered since the room was beginning to darken.

Quatre only watched her as she scooted the frames over on the bottom shelf and made enough room for the new one. "This was our pose for his showing," she explained, snuggling the picture in with the rest.

Stepping back, she rather liked the effect. Graced in a thin golden frame she stood in the ivory of her gown for the evening, throwing a secret little smile over her shoulder as Davonte stood behind her, her hand raised to his lips over her shoulder as he bowed to place a lover's kiss on her knuckles. It was the forbidden "princess and the pauper" feel that he had been going for.

For some reason he had found that wonderfully funny. She wasn't sure she got it.

"Completely Von's idea, you can tell," she added. When there was no response, Dorothy turned to find Quatre thoughtfully scrutinizing the photo. "What?" she blinked.

Taking a wider look over the rest of the shelves, he quietly turned back to her a second, his look very uncertain. "I'm not sure I want to mention this," he softly decided to finally speak.

"Mention what?" she raised an eyebrow. Quatre studied the image again, his eyes expressively worried. Stalling, and she knew it. "Well?" she prodded again, impatient.

It was sort of like interrogating the man for information before he seemed to give up and turned back to her. "Were you still wearing that when you spoke to Andrew?" he began.

For some reason Dorothy wondered if it was normal to be practically putty in a man's hands one minute, and annoyed to all hell with him the next. No one else could get this wide array of emotions out of her, and she knew it. "Yes, why?"

He obviously heard the annoyance in her voice but didn't seem to be able to just spit it out. Instead she watched him walk over and pick up the frame again, take a good look at it, and then step over and set it tenderly down in between the wedding photos of her grandparents.

"Andrew claims to have been in love with you," he finally spoke to the picture as he stepped back again. "That doesn't take much imagination."

Dorothy stood, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. She also hadn't failed to notice the way he worded "_claims_ to have been in love" either. For the life of her, she would never figure out why he was so bitter about that. But turning to look at the frame she didn't figure this out either. "What am I looking at?"

There was no reply yet as she stared at the picture.

Finally she turned her attention to the fact that he'd moved the frame between the wedding portraits. Wedding…. "Oh, you're joking," she whispered.

It was a medieval theme, but she was draped in a sweeping ivory gown, classically pulled off the shoulders. The photo still showed her with the little tiara on her head too, actually very reminiscent of the family heirloom now that she noticed. She hadn't been wearing that when she saw Andrew though. But with her hair completely down it did resemble a veil behind her.

Suddenly she really felt sick. Dorothy especially didn't need to be told that Andrew very well could have held flights of fancy about taking her as his bride. For sixteen bloody years the entire Foundation had the Cathedral on standby for the date.

She herself had even entertained the thought a few times in her life. Why had it never occurred to her to think of how she had appeared to him? Andrew had walked into a room, trapped into confronting emotions that she had no concept of, and had watched everything that he knew of her fall apart in a pile at his feet. Her attire had probably been the last slap in the face.

No wonder he had reacted so harshly.

Turning away she moved back to take a seat on the piano bench again, just needing to sit down. Quatre was beside her instantly, obviously very watchful of her. He dropped to a knee beside the bench but said nothing as he carefully laid a hand over hers in her lap.

Why did she never see what was right in front of her?

Closing her eyes a second she took a breath and specifically pushed the feelings away. There was nothing she could do about it now. Actually, there was nothing she could ever do about it.

"Well, not especially a happy little thought," she finally muttered. Throwing a last glance over to the shelves she wondered if that display was such a good idea anymore. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes and finally met Quatre's worried expression. "Sorry," she whispered. "Why am I always such a lousy host to you?"

He broke a smile for her and shook it off. "We both have our days."

Dorothy couldn't help but chuckle at him. Yes, they did, but she'd had her fill of being depressed for one evening. Stealing her free hand back she patted his. "Come along, dear. I owe you dinner for putting up with me." Rising to her feet she kept his hand and pulled him off his knee, tugging him along after her.

"No trouble," he awkwardly reassured her.

Waving a hand she mentally dismissed the whole thing. Pausing at the shelves again, she moved the frame back to its new home before turning her back on it. "I know this fantastic little seafood place you'll just love," she mockingly gushed.

* * *

"A photograph never grows old. You and I change, people change all through the months and years, but a photograph always remains the same. How nice to look at a photograph of mother or father taken many years ago. You see them as you remember them. But as people live on, they change completely. That is why I think a photograph can be kind." Albert Einstein

* "Falling in Love" by O'Neill brothers.

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by Spiked Jin


	36. Chapter 36

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 36

"Morning."

Quatre comically threw a glance behind him at the doorway that Dorothy had obviously just passed. Figuring he'd get a head start on the security assessments before she was back from Sunday church, he was already through with the generic note taking on the first two floors, which he knew about as well as his own home by this point.

He was currently in a third floor guest room as he did a quick assessment on the accessibility of any of the rooms here. Dorothy didn't have to be so crass in her statement that Heero was paranoid, but Quatre was certain that he'd be on high alert about bringing Relena here.

His own fondness for Miss Relena was enough to ensure that he did his job as thoroughly as possible. But he was well aware of his friend's affections for her, and knew without any hesitation that even the smallest risk to her safety would need to be dealt with. Of course the major problem with that sentiment was that Heero was going to have to deal with his… _skepticism_ surrounding Dorothy.

And she wasn't going to make that easy. Especially after she took it as a personal insult that he wanted an outside agent to take point on the security needs. Personally, he figured if the two would get their egos out of the way they could truly appreciate each other. But he had a bet with himself that those two were going to shatter Relena's pacifist image in the matter of a single, short-lived, fundraising event.

Quatre still silently wondered if there was a way he could be otherwise occupied that night. He had the sinking suspicion someone was going to force a rematch… and he was still the most likely candidate to end up stabbed again.

He was trying to be funny with himself to calm his nerves, and he knew it.

He had really thought the worst was behind him now that he could admit to himself what his emotions were doing to him, and where they were going. He had a name for what he felt now. What he didn't have was any sense of peace about the issue. If anything could have shattered his hopeful notions of having a long, fulfilling life together with the decadent Lady Catalonia, this trip had.

His worth and fittingness for her was laughable.

Personally, one on one, he knew he was good for her. Knew somehow that he was what she needed. And deep down, he honestly felt that she knew that too.

If it wasn't for the amount of outside influences between them, he wasn't sure where they could be now. Quatre still didn't know how to confess his feelings to her. And regardless of their families and positions, Dorothy still held a scarred heart.

Something he'd faced again yesterday.

Shaking that off, he put his mind back to his work as he heard footsteps in the hallway again. "I hope you don't mind, but I got cornered into accepting a brunch invitation for the two of us."

Quatre turned again as she entered the room behind him and gave her a curious look. "Alright."

"The Marquis Wayridge seems exceptionally eager to meet you." There was a glint of confusion in her eyes as she sauntered up beside him, her hands folded behind her. She had obviously changed from her skirt for church to a nice pair of gray slacks.

"To meet me?" he asked, wondering at the odd expression on her face.

"Yes. Well, he is a fan," she waved it off with a knowing little smile.

Quatre understood quite well what that meant by now. "How much of one?" he cautiously asked.

Dorothy gave him a giggle and her most prized smirk. "One of your most devoted."

Well, that certainly sounded positive. "Is that the reason why he's helping you host this?"

"This was his idea." She shrugged and moved over to flop down and sit on the bed in front of him. "I haven't exactly figured out his motives yet. But he has always been Miss Relena's most adamant supporter through our ranks. He knew her parents through one way or another."

"The Peacecrafts?"

She nodded blankly, "I've never figured out the correlation. But he keeps his secrets as well as any of us."

"But, do you trust him?"

She met his eyes, blinking out of her own thoughts. "Greatly. I hold nothing but the highest regard for him."

Quatre was well aware of what kind of compliment that was. Nodding, he pushed his concern back. "So what does he want with me?"

"The Marquis is a friendly, likable man. You'll get along wonderfully, I'm sure. As to why, I'm not sure," she paused in thought, still scrutinizing him and giving him that creeping feeling of self-consciousness again. "What I do know is that, like any good Romafeller, he has more than one reason," she smiled instead.

He gave her a displaced smile as she rose to her feet again and walked over to him. "Is that supposed to prepare me?" he accused her.

"I'm not preparing you." Sliding up to his side she looked down at the folder and his notes he still had in hand. "This is merely background. Your own natural charm should be quite enough for an informal brunch."

"Thanks," he mumbled, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. Quatre was beginning to wonder if the power of Romafeller could be very easily summed up as the single ability of making other people nervous.

"Are you wearing cologne?" she asked suddenly.

Speaking of nervous. "Uh… too much?" he tried, focusing on anything but her. Yes, he'd attempted cologne this morning, only to promptly try to scrub it back off when he realized how badly it stunk. Apparently, he hadn't tried hard enough.

With a little crinkle to her nose Dorothy actually sniffed at him. "Not your brand," she shook her head and let it go at that, turning away towards the door again. "If you're not in the middle of anything we should be on our way."

"Coming," he called after her, giving the empty room a pathetically mortified expression.

* * *

He was honestly impressive.

Dorothy sipped at her coffee, following the conversation that easily flowed back and forth between him and the Marquis. Quatre had won over the Marchioness Elena Wayridge with a smile and a kiss on the hand as soon as she introduced them. The woman in question was a sweet, lovely woman who had probably never thought a bad thing about anyone in her entire life anyway, but she had positively glowed when he flashed her that first smile.

Dorothy may be able to make Quatre a Romafeller yet. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the smile off her face.

Her dear charge had honestly been a little more than nervous on their way here. She'd taken the scenic route to the Wayridge's estate and soothed over his last minute questions, most involving how to act in front of a man of title.

She'd told him over and over again not to worry about it. But then again, she was dealing with Quatre, so of course he did. However, none of that concern had crossed the threshold with him, and he was easily comfortable by now.

The group chatted idly, small talk really. The Marquis seemed very interested in Winner Enterprises, and especially the mining portion of it. Apparently there was a bill now before the Representatives that could allow Earth as an open market for crude materials, something that hadn't been done in more than a hundred years.

These two seemed fascinated with the proposal. Dorothy didn't think she could care less, although she did make a mental note to ask if that bill would increase Winner Mining's stock holdings.

Instead, she sat back, and watched the elder gentleman before her. Distinguished as always, he was polite and more jovial than usual this morning. But she still wondered what was going through the man's head. The simple fact that he knew she and Quatre were both staying here this weekend was enough of a hint that he was up to something.

They were being tracked. By how many, she didn't know.

A flash of defensiveness went through her, but she checked it again. Wayridge wouldn't allow anything to happen to Quatre, she was sure of it. This meeting could be the way that he ensured that, she supposed. She couldn't figure out any other real purpose.

Of course, the man could simply have been curious and she was reading too much into it. He had certainly shown an interest, specifically, in Quatre before. She was probably just paranoid.

Now look at who the nervous one was.

Mentally rolling her eyes, she sipped her coffee again as the group chuckled over a joke in the conversation. Quatre never failed to impress her. She didn't know why she was surprised now. It was just honestly very nice to sit here with friends with him beside her.

The breakfast nook they were in held a table for four between the kitchen and the dining room. It was a little sunroom of sorts, giving them a warm view into the backyard and the granite fountain that stood passively by through the winter. She'd never been in here before. Always in her visits she'd been seated in the formal dining room for an event, or in the family dining room if it was only her and Grandfather. Never had she been snuggled into this private little area before.

It was cozy. Just the two couples.

That was really what it felt like. Like the whole room considered them two couples, just sitting down for an informal little get-together. Dorothy supposed it was partially true. The couple in front of her had been married longer than she'd been alive. And considering Quatre was her guest, her charge and her friend, it pushed the two of them into the role.

But somehow that didn't seem to be it. Quatre fit in so well. His manners, characteristics, even his background to an extent. Maybe she just couldn't see the harm in liking the idea for a little while. Maybe she just liked the idea of being beside someone.

Those were not thoughts for here and now. Of course, they had been nagging at her at odd, random times for more than a week now. Ever since Quatre had waved off her happy little notions of marital discord, and challenged her to actually go through the traditional love and dating crap.

Dang it. Why did he always make her life so difficult?

The group chatted, wasting most of two hours before they all rose to say their goodbyes. The Marchioness apologized for the fifth time about adding sausage to the menu without realizing Quatre's religious disinclination for it. Again it took one of his smiles and a soothing assurance that he wasn't the least bit offended before she gave an embarrassed giggle but smiled back.

Dorothy barely kept her chuckle internal at the exchange.

"Mr. Winner, I do hope that we'll see you again soon," the elder man added with a shallow bow. "If I may be so bold, I would like to extend a personal invitation to you for your attendance at our little fundraiser for the Foreign Ministers. If you haven't already been offered one, of course," he added with a good-natured glace at Dorothy.

"Well, I didn't think I needed to beat anyone to it," she conceded.

Quatre gave them both a chuckle. "I will be honored. Thank you, Marquis."

"Good, good," he nodded to himself. "Lady Catalonia, I'm sure I will be in touch soon as well."

Granting him her hand she allowed the man to step in and pat her on the back with his free hand while he raised hers to peck a kiss on the back. "I will hold you to that," she assured. Probably sooner than he may expect.

She allowed Quatre to exchange a pleasant parting with the Marchioness and then switched with him. "Come again, Dorothy. We don't see enough of you these days," the woman prodded taking both of her hands.

"I will certainly try," she returned as the two women leaned in and pecked kisses on both cheeks before her hands were released again.

Turning away for the door where the butler was standing by to open it for them, Dorothy took Quatre's arm and allowed him to escort her out. She could rather enjoy this.

* * *

"Oh, they make such a darling couple," she gushed, happily clapping her hands in front of her as the two disappeared down the walk through the front windows. "I had always worried about Dorothy. She's such a strong girl; it's hard to find such a sweet boy to compliment her."

"Yes," the Marquis gave a little smile to the retreating couple's backs. "I do agree, Elena."

"They're so nice together," she continued with her little romantic musings as she turned and took her husband's arm and tugged him along after her towards the reading room. "And such a handsome boy," she nearly giggled.

--

There was something comforting about the black of space. Whether it was the darkness, the solitude, or just his own heart nagging for the peace and quiet, Quatre wasn't sure. He just knew it felt like home.

The earth was beautiful and a little mysterious to him still, but wonderful. His trips never overshadowed that from his mind. But the call of the Colonies, and of Space itself, held a longing in him… a feeling of belonging.

A feeling that had begun to waver in him again.

It was odd to be so openly welcomed, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding. Intruding in a place, in a life, that he didn't truly belong in. Not that he wasn't accepted, but more that he wasn't… necessary.

Dorothy really didn't need him. Not the way he needed her.

She needed a friend, someone who knew her inside and out, as much as anyone would ever know the Lady Catalonia. Every once in a while she needed a set of arms and a shoulder, but he really didn't think it mattered if they belonged to him, or anyone else.

Quatre was back to the same thoughts. The same reaction that he wanted to be the only one who could give her that. …And he wasn't. At this point in life maybe he'd accomplished that much, but in time she'd grow out of him. Once she was settled and her tears were dried again, what would he be to her?

He knew she cared, and knew that she would never just toss him away. They were too much alike, and yet… so vastly different that they complimented each other. Dorothy would never let go of him.

But she didn't need him. She would never need anyone. It was a revelation that he was slowly admitting to. She wouldn't only be a hard chase or a battle no one would ever truly win… but she also wasn't a woman who would fall so blindly in love that she would forget the world for the one man in her life.

Even in his thoughts it was too hard to explain. He just knew it in his heart that Dorothy would never abandon her name and title and forget herself for him. She couldn't be blinded like that. She didn't have the heart for it.

She was unique. He loved her for the heart she had. A heart that was everything he needed and wanted, but one that he wasn't sure he could pursue. In the past few days his hope had inflated and diminished so many times….

But he loved her. Did he have a choice?

* * *

Mint tea. She liked the smell of it, the feel of a hot cup in her hands. The tingling, prickly feeling. Almost, but not quite, too hot to hold.

It was just the melancholy dreariness these days. Anything that broke the monotony, no matter how small, was welcome. It was like she was anxious for something, but too tired to remember what.

Quiet was her faithful friend. Even the constant ticking of a clock became grating.

Stacks of paperwork and data pads sat in front of her on the desk, but none of them held the mystery that a cup of mint tea could right now.

She hated mint tea. Never liked the flavor. But it smelled good. She'd only made it because it was different. Something... different.

Her cup was quickly cooling though, as if, somehow, it was losing interest in her before she was finished with it.

Spring was coming. The windows of the office reflected back the gray of the cold drizzle outside. First, she would have to suffer through these dank, clammy weeks of soggy humidity.

Rain never suited her.

Her mother though... yes, her mother had loved rain. Why or how, she couldn't fathom. But she could remember. Just barely, on the edge of her memories, sat the gentle soul who had borne her. The delicate features, the soft grace, the light voice and the whispering touch.

Her mother loved it when it rained.

And when it didn't, she would play. "Raindrops." As though a piano could do as well, or better than, the heavenly water could at producing whatever effect it was that the woman longed for.

Dorothy didn't understand it now anymore than then.

But she hummed.

It wasn't an easy song to pick out in a hum. There were too many overlapping sounds, too many notes that slipped, and splashed, around each other. She would have never thought she could even remember a tune like that so well after all this time.

Maybe it was the tea.

The gardens outside always held some mint, just to stir the air and cleanse the nasal pallet between the lilacs and the lilies, the honeysuckle and the roses. The gardens would need to be reworked this spring. They hadn't been truly trimmed or arranged, brought to their lively luster, since Grandmother passed away. Just after mother had.

Dorothy had never liked the gardens. Probably because they were never treated right. It wasn't fair that such things were always left to the women of the house. Was it her fault that they had suffered so much? The apparent lack of a gentle, whispering grace? Would the words of a man not be enough to talk the flowers into blooming?

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that her tea was now barely lukewarm. She would have rather held the hot cup in her hands until her skin turned red from the heat. She would have welcomed it. She was cold now. Again.

It was the dreariness of these days. If the sun would come out, she could think of working again. Could think of going out and doing something. Just to be out. She didn't need a reason, just anything. As long as it was different. Something… different.

But the piles on her desk called to her, looking lonely at being abandoned for the worthless, cold, cup of tea.

Fine then. She didn't need to feel guilty to her own desk.

Rising, she moved away, but then hesitated and turned back to the cup. Picking it up, she held it in both hands; one cradling the bottom, as though it needed the support. A gentle whisper of a touch.

Moving to the other side of the office, she paused at one of the windows she passed, watching the cold drizzle down on the gray little gardens below. Poor things. Even in the winter they didn't seem to rest well in that condition. "I'll fix that," Dorothy softly cooed towards them.

She didn't know why she stayed here. It had been dripping on and off like this for the past four days. She'd leave again. Soon.

Moving on, she stepped up to the oak paneled wall of the office, near the corner, where a faux panel could be noticed if you looked for it. With a careful hand, she opened the veneer, and took a long look at the safe that was concealed behind it. Numbly, her fingers pressed in a combination into the keypad.

It didn't open. She tried another. Still, it didn't open. Tilting her head to the side, she tried a third set.

A pop sounded into the stillness of the room.

Running a feathery touch over the door, she took the handle and opened it. Inside, the little gray drawers looked back at her. None of them had been touched in years, she was sure. There was no reason to.

There wasn't now.

Softly, she knelt down on the floor, gently placing the cup beside her. The smell was nice. Clean. Lulling. Slightly bitter.

Starting towards the top, she pulled each metal drawer open, gave it a bored inspection, and then closed it again. Down one side, up the other. None of them were marked. But the very top drawer, she didn't move just yet. The long one that stretched all the way across the safe, but so thin that it still couldn't hold much.

This one she saved for last.

The others were soon finished, though none of the documents and deeds, heirlooms and jewels, trinkets or things paid any mind to her browsing. So instead she pulled out the top drawer. All the way out. And sat back on the floor, placing the metal drawer in her lap.

A ring collection gazed back at her. A rival to jewelry store displays.

Except these stones didn't twinkle. Nothing did on these rainy days. The light was mute, and conservative. So unlike the little bands of gaudiness that looked up at her.

On the right side, near her hand, was a collection of diamond sets. Delicately, she moved her fingers to caress over a particular set. Yellow gold, three bands, encrusted with braids of diamonds, with one in the middle to show itself off.

Her grandmother's. A good number of these were Grandmother's. But this one, this one was specially placed in this little collection on the right. Her wedding set. An engagement ring that was worn alone for just over a year, its main diamond the focus of the collection. A wedding band that backed it, worn for just under forty-three years. The anniversary band, that had only seen three years of wear.

No one ever knew what to do with a dead woman's wedding ring.

There were four, possibly five, of the same distinctive style rings laid out in front of her. Little symbols of meaning that didn't hold their sparkle anymore.

Dreary little things. Lost, like worthless memories of mint tea. They held stories no one knew anymore. What did they matter?

Did they speak of love? Of family? Did they tell the observer, remind the wearer, that she was taken? Did the men who gave these rings really hold his love's hand, or merely the price tag of these stones? It seemed impolite to ask that of these fingerless, embodiments of marriage. They weren't telling.

But it was the oddity that drew her attention. The one ring that sat, cozied into the black velvet of the holder, near the corner of the drawer. Placed in with the group, yet somehow set apart, its appearance distinctive and irregular.

Different.

This stone still flashed, a spark of life still in it. Or maybe it simply recognized the memories it still held in someone else.

Rose gold, the settling filigreed and intricate. A single stone of alexandrite, octagon cut, topping it. A rarity. Just like its wearer. Just like the love it represented. Something to confuse the observer, but clear to the bearer. A game, of sorts.

Dorothy loved it. She always had. Why she bucked tradition so much, she would never know. But she had a feeling that this ring did. This little token of a love so quick, and so blind to the inappropriateness of the couple.

She supposed that was the reason she was so quick to love. Anything with a spark of passion, a touch of courage, and she was taken with it. Anything that worked into her private little drama of life fascinated her. It wasn't a love she could name. She just knew it was there.

There were no foolish melodramatics. It was a precise love. Clear, like a blue sky. Her heart was simply different. Something… different.

Gently, she took the thing out of its cradle and held it to the gray light. The color-changing stone still sparkled with an inner brilliance. Cleverly, the band showed its curls and twists in the intricate design.

Slowly, she studied the novelty in her hands, the smell of the tea, the quiet of the room….

Rainy days didn't suit her. The dull monotony of a closed safe didn't suit this little ring either.

Tenderly, she held it with a soft touch. Though the temptation was there, she didn't dare try it on. The precious thing was made for a delicate woman. A woman with long, slender fingers, probably two sizes smaller than her own.

A pianist's fingers. Long, graceful hands adorned with short nails and this elegant, fitting ring. It had suited her. Probably all of the bands in this case had suited their charge. That was their purpose after all.

Deftly, Dorothy glanced out through the farthest window. The gray of the day's rain reflected back to her. As gray as her own eyes. As gray as the gardens, and the stones of the chateau.

The soft, satiny color of the rose gold and deep teal of the stone by daylight struck an odd effect against the pale ivory of her skin. It wasn't the porcelain pink of her mother's. The variation was nearly unperceivable, but there nonetheless.

And it knew. Knew she wasn't its owner. From the palm of her hand, the ring there knew she wasn't the gentle, beautiful woman with long fingers and a musical soul. It knew she wasn't its designed for companion. It knew Dorothy wasn't her mother.

She was different. Something… different.

Like a rainy day, or a wedding ring… or mint tea.

* * *

"Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves." - Blaise Pascal

* "Raindrops" by Charlie Sneller.

AN: You know, that last scene was a little more poetic than I typically try to put into a novel length story, but I liked it. I was sitting here, holding a cup of mint tea, staring at my piles of work and… well, there you go. If you know the lyrics to Dorothy's character song "Joy to My Life" from the series, you'll recognize some of this.

Proofread by: Random Pixy  
Edited by: Spiked Jin


	37. Chapter 37

_Revelations_  
By Isis  
Chapter 37

She never gave a concession. Dorothy Catalonia absolutely refused to bow out of a dying match. Even in check with no exit to save herself, she would force his hand to make the final moves.

Quatre hated when he won almost as much as when he lost.

Instead of calling the game when she was obviously outmaneuvered, she would calmly play on until he went through the subsequent turns and finally got the game to end with an official checkmate. It was bad enough that their matches were typically close to hour-long stand offs, but she had to have the certain mark of who won and who lost.

Typical.

But it still made him smile. Two in a row today. She was probably perturbed. Of course, he did have the advantage since it wasn't one thirty in the morning here.

Somewhere in the rearrangements to his schedule, he had freed himself up quite well. It was getting to the point that if he was around the office all week, he actually got caught up. And, considering he had little else but work to do, his overtime hours were random. One problem at a time. Which he was beginning to get used to, thankfully.

So, sometime in the past month, he had come back from lunch one afternoon to find that there was actually nothing that needed his attention. Instead of going home and inventing something to fill the, still awkward, time with, he had done the usual. He called Dorothy, and even admitted that he was bored.

And, also as usual, she had the perfect way to correct the problem. Online chess. With the interactive board and the "private room" that the game provided, she had challenged him to a duel… of cartoon drawn chess pieces.

That first match had been an eye opener. From the start he had expected the straight down the throat, take no prisoners, command tactics that he had seen in Dorothy before. And he wasn't disappointed. But she could pull a rearrangement faster than he could follow sometimes. Cunning and sneaky, she plotted tactics, not moves.

She never played the same twice. Just when you thought her offense was going to open itself up in the middle by sheer use of force, she would suddenly move defensive and cut you off. Dorothy could be bloodthirsty with her men for three quarters of the game and then decide that your pieces weren't worth taking anymore, and shy away from confrontation, drawing you out instead.

But Quatre was patient. Any of the couple times that he'd tried to take the first initiative and strike at her full force, she would dance away and easily slit his king's throat. She'd goad him on during those matches; the little message line under their board was usually anything but pleasant chitchat while the games went on.

Sticking to his own methodical play had faired far better for him. A three step pyramid typically. Defend, advance, attack. While she weeded her pieces out fighting through his defensive lines, he would pick off any piece that got carelessly away from the others and then dart back to safety again. Which really annoyed her, much to his amusement. Advancement took time, especially if she was sticking to attack formations, but sometimes that meant she came to him.

His attacks were always swift and mostly merciful. If he couldn't have her in a solid check in three moves or less, he didn't attempt it. She was too good at squirming away from him. He'd learned that early on too.

As Quatre now moved his queen to checkmate her king, he mentally ticked off one more in his win column. Fifteen to eleven. Not a bad lead on her, especially after being down seven to three.

The little message line at the end of the screen showed up again. _Fine. Fine. Goodnight._

With a chuckle Quatre nodded to himself and quickly wrote her back. _I'm sure you'll get even. Goodnight, Dorothy. I hope I didn't keep you up too long. I'll see you tomorrow._

_Don't remind me. Always a pleasure, Master Winner__,_ slowly appeared next. The little notice popped up that she had left the room and was offline.

Leaning back in his office chair with a smile he studied the board one last time and figured that she'd let him off easy today. She must have been sleepy; there were a few key moves that she missed.

Ah well. Maybe he would have to challenge her to a face-to-face match this weekend. Somehow he figured that would make a difference.

Yeah, he probably wouldn't be able to concentrate at all. She would sit, leaned back in the chair, probably cross her legs, prop her chin up with her elbow. And give away none of her intentions until it was already too late.

He wondered if she'd ever played poker. Probably. With a shake of his head he figured she'd probably played strip poker before too.

And won, much to everyone's disap—he stopped himself.

* * *

Dorothy was actually anything but tired. Annoyed was the more appropriate term. She didn't even bother getting agitated at losing a chess match to Quatre these days. It was a wonderfully fun little diversion to life.

It was the rest of life that seemed to thoroughly enjoy biting her in the butt these days.

She was once again at the chateau collecting the necessary items before she met Quatre at Miss Relena's this weekend to go through the order of their fundraiser. Her "partner," as she had come to call him, would be going ahead of her and meeting with Heero earlier in the day about the security restraints.

For some reason he had offered to do that part alone and assured her he didn't need any help this early in the setup. Dorothy figured he was just being a coward and didn't want to let her and Heero have the words they were destined to have about the whole mess. Always the peacekeeper.

Well, she was sure she would get her chance. Agent Yuy owed her half his ass as it was anyway. Of course he didn't know that, but still, the man could at least have the decency to be grateful for un-requested favors.

Most of a month ago now, Relena had come under physical attack during one of her standard interview shows. The group responsible was apparently attempting a kidnapping for some worthless cause or other. She didn't allow herself to eavesdrop that much Preventers information these days. She and the others had had their hands full in attempting to salvage the situation.

Relena had come out of it with only a bruise on her cheek and the entire Sphere turning out in support of her. …Along with the tape of the abduction attempt that had been foiled by her team and, most notably, Heero himself. The show's tape had gotten out to the Associated Press faster than anyone could stop it, and the Sphere had been shown not only the grand heroics of Agent Yuy, but also his seemingly tender side towards the Vice Minister. Well, as tender as he ever got.

And the wrath of bloodthirsty gossip hounds had brought the entire Sphere to a crawl. Everyone wanted to know who this handsome, amazing agent was that had rescued her, and who had even "cuddled" her into a hug afterwards.

A picture that now served as Dorothy's laptop wallpaper for her obvious amusement.

However, the others were anything but amused. The amount of recognition over who Heero really was broke open. And when Relena finally returned to the public, she had boldly announced her social involvement with Agent Yuy as well as her professional one.

They were official. To the whole danged Unified Nation from public television, they were official.

If that wasn't a mess, she didn't know what was.

But that was also a nicely interesting little distraction. After all, those were the games she enjoyed most, and she had gotten to play the devoted defender once again. Besides, teasing Miss Relena had definite advantages when she could no longer deny anything. The woman had gained a true love life, and it was Dorothy's duty to make sure that the busy Vice Minister never forgot it.

No, no, the real trouble now was her own… personal connections.

Good a term as any, she supposed. After sulking in her own misery for a while, and secretly wondering how to ship Quatre a package of live crayfish for his helpfully observant insights, she had raised her chin and decided that maybe she should do something about it.

Figuring her looks were as good as they were going to get, she decided she may as well not press her luck on keeping the same level of effectiveness she could gain now with the male populous. She had the bank records to make most men, even around here, look away in embarrassment, and she had a titling property and an inheritable title that she could pass on to her future son, should her husband not have his own.

In short, Dorothy Catalonia, Lady of Chateau de la Brume Gris was ripe for the picking. And she had finally thrown in her name for inclusion in the hat known as _available_.

And had found it wanting.

It wasn't exactly hard. Every woman over fifty around here had a grandson or great nephew, or whatever that they were more than willing to stuff into their manners and toss at her doorstep like the morning paper. After all, whether she was an "insufferable little ingrate" was immaterial as long as the deeds could be signed over and she wasn't one to keep her maiden name.

She was beginning to find that dating was way too much work for the supposed reward.

She'd started small. Invited for tea one afternoon with the Marchioness Wayridge again, she had been placed in front of a number of ladies, all of whom were trying to marry off one or another of their families—the executioners.

Eventually she had been cornered by the Lady Dobrent, who reminded Dorothy of her son, Mitch, who she had known from school. And she had politely inquired as to his health and happenings, and to whether or not the man in question had ever gotten past the nervous stuttering.

Apparently not. Dorothy had decided that it was very hard to have a conversation with someone when you heard them trying to say the same reply three times before you got it. Mitch was nice though. She gave him credit for that. Others… weren't so much.

Roberto Welsh was definitely not. "Insufferable" was invented in anticipation for this man. She'd been stretching it with someone nine years her senior anyway. Quatre would still accuse her of grave robbing if she'd bothered to mention any of this to him. Which of course, she didn't.

That was a whole other issue.

Catherine had, however, burst her sides laughing her pretty little head off when she'd told her about the evening.

After a glass of wine, a necessity, and her salad, Dorothy had had it with the chauvinistic, sex crazed, attempt of a man. The slimy creep got a full five-minute word lashing from her before she rose from her seat and stared him down.

Instead of being abashed, or at the very least unable to give her a look-over, which he did anyway, he had the audacity to say that she couldn't leave now, since he'd already have to pay for her entree.

So, on her way out she had ordered another opened bottle of wine and four dessert courses for the table from their waiter, running up the bill out of pure spite.

And she had come back, checked the time difference and called Catherine because it was her turn to initiate "Thursday phone night," mixed herself a nice Irish coffee, and sat down at her computer and invited Quatre to a chess match because she couldn't bring herself to work.

Screw it all. She would still be rich by the time she got desperately lonely and actually wanted one of the pathetic leftovers. That was just going to have to be enough for them.

Flipping up her appointment book in her phone, she looked through her schedule for tomorrow and the next couple days while she was staying with Relena. With a little snort she picked up her stylus and moved to Wednesday when she was scheduled to be back home again, and tapped in, _buy cat_.

* * *

Quatre happily exited the taxi and made his way up to the siding glass doors of Preventers Headquarters in the early afternoon, local time. Walking through front security he gave his name to the receptionist as Agent Winner and she nodded him on in, giving him directions to find Heero's office.

Coming out on the thirteenth floor he followed the hallway to the end and curiously peeked into the corner office. The, now absolutely famous, Agent Yuy sat at the desk busily tapping away at the keyboard, the same bad typing form his friend always had showing in the strokes.

Strokes that Quatre easily recognized were probably due to the young man learning the front console of a mobile suit before he learned the computer keyboard. Trowa had the same tendency if he was in a hurry.

With an easy smile Quatre turned into the office and approached the desk, taking an appraising look out the walls of glass of the corner office. The Capital Government building stood across the street, its older facade of stone was shorter than this thirteenth floor, and they looked down at the building protectively.

Appropriate, he mused.

Heero didn't look up at his entrance yet, and so he contented himself with the view and then a quick glance around the barren office. Also appropriate. The corner of the glass walls had a little plant on a stand that was looking a little yellow. The opposite wall held a single framed certificate on the white sheetrock. And that was the extent of it.

"Quatre," Heero finally mumbled a greeting, still not turning away from his work.

"Hello, Heero," he returned. "Take your time, I have nowhere else to be."

"Hn."

Setting his laptop case down on one of the chairs in front of the desk, he walked over to the corner and took a good look at the Government Building of the ESUN. Then he glanced down at the plant again before finding the little thing odd. Had to have been something from Relena. Heero didn't seem like the botany type.

Picking up the little pot, he glanced at it and then the yellowing leaves before rooting a finger around the potting soil a little. Ah, the poor little thing was root bound in that small of a container.

Quatre heard the typing slow to a stop and turned to look back at Heero, who was giving a mildly curious look between him and the plant. "It's outgrown the pot. You should really replant it in something larger," he helpfully informed him before setting the thing back down on the stand.

His friend blinked at him a second and then seemed to take in the information before turning back to his screen. "Understood."

He chuckled at him and stepped back towards his desk. Heero was never exactly talkative, but he had come a long way since he'd been here with Miss Relena. Now, with their relationship out in public—literally—Quatre wasn't sure if the man would revert back to the shadows once again.

Apparently not. And Quatre could only be happy for the two. They were both so good for each other he wished them all the best possible. The abduction scare a while ago wasn't something that Quatre would ever want to happen to them, but the response had been more positive than not. They had come through everything else; this didn't surprise him in the least.

A set of footsteps in the hallway stopped at the door as a knock sounded. Heero looked up and Quatre turned to regard the entrant—and froze.

As did the man in the doorway.

The atmosphere turned solid in the little office as he stared at the tall, sandy haired man. A shocked second passed through the room before the other blinked. "Mr. Winner."

"Mr. Varnhem," Quatre stated before quickly correcting himself with a look over the uniform the man was now wrapped in. "Excuse me, _Officer_ Varnhem," he tried a shallow smile.

Andrew also added a smirk to his features as he stood in the doorway to the office, gray slacks and a light beige button down marked with the crest of a badge on his left breast pocket.

Quickly counting the time since he'd last seen the young man, he could only figure that Andrew had completed two months in officer's training, foregoing any other stay in training and had received his badge already.

It wasn't easy, but Quatre would probably say it was expected from someone with his background.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, Agent Yuy?" he went on, finally turning to the man who was still seated behind his desk.

"Come in," was the only reply.

Andrew did as instructed and quickly stepped to the other side of the desk and handed over a folder and data pad, which Heero was obviously expecting. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Winner," he mentioned, turning again but not making for the door yet.

"You too," he nodded. "And congratulations," he added as friendly as possible.

"Thank you," the other smiled and nodded in parting.

Quatre followed the man's back with his eyes until he disappeared out the door and back down the hallway. The air still hung heavy and his back was still stiff with the reaction of seeing him here. Andrew hadn't ventured the obvious "what are you doing here" question. Perhaps he knew already.

He noticed, but didn't pay much attention as Heero walked around the desk and then over to close the door. "I didn't know you were familiar with the Romafeller families."

It was a mild accusation, but from Heero that meant mostly curiosity. "I'm not," he corrected softly before finally looking back to his friend who was eyeing him oddly. "But Dorothy's ex I am familiar with," he softly admitted, figuring he could trust Heero easily enough behind closed doors.

He was aware just how bitter that sounded only after the other's expression turned confused. "Ex what?"

Good question. Ex-friend, boyfriend, love interest, arranged marriage? Crud, he wished he knew what to call it. "I don't know," he finally mumbled, turning away from the steady gaze of the other former pilot.

"Varnhem and his partner are now part of my team," Heero steered the conversation on.

What were the chances of that? "Byron Solvana?" he asked and got a nod in return. "I didn't figure Byron was too far behind," he added to himself mostly. "They are apparently almost inseparable."

"Hn," came the agreement. "Une has them scheduled with us until after the fundraiser."

He looked up again, things clicking into his head. Une and Dorothy both would know the meaning of having those two in Preventers uniforms. One, if not both, probably wanted this set up the way it was.

Heero stepped back closer and gave him an expectant look, the smallest touch of concern at the edges. It wasn't the first time Quatre had caught that look from his friend, but it was definitely more openly displayed after these past years. "Problem?"

He broke a smile again at the show of concern out of this particular man. "No," he answered. His problems with Andrew were personal, and nothing that needed to be brought into the mission.

But he knew Heero didn't believe him as he turned and walked back to his desk. "They both knew Dorothy?" he asked.

"The three grew up together. They went to school together, including being on the fencing team," he abbreviated, knowing Heero would appreciate that piece of information.

Apparently he did, given his expression. "I wondered why they seemed familiar."

"Kindred spirits," he agreed. From what he knew, it probably hadn't taken much for Heero to get the feeling he'd been around those tactics before. His friend had gotten a course in Dorothy's physical, as well as mental, fighting styles. And there were definite similarities.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Quatre looked over, ready to quickly defend Dorothy's motives, but realized that Heero had only said it to get a reaction. He laughed instead with a nod. Stepping back to his case he opened it to pull out the information he'd gained for the trip.

If nothing else, they probably would not be happy to find out that Quatre officially outranked them.

He was learning Dorothy's sadistic side.

* * *

Heero had warned him that the front gates were guarded, but that those on duty would let him through. Quatre hadn't realized why until the taxi stopped half a block down where the little crowd ended. Collected in front of the residence were media reporters and obvious supporters of Relena's campaign.

He had known that immediately after her abduction attempt people had come in droves to show their support and love for the peace-minded politician. He hadn't been aware that a few leftovers were still around.

Deciding that on foot was as good as any he left the cab, collected his luggage and politely excused himself up towards the front gates. What he hadn't anticipated was anyone actually recognizing him.

Thankfully, he'd made it to the walk-in gate and the security had already opened it to let him through before the media crowd picked up on it. "Quatre Raberba Winner!"

He turned to look back through the fence, knowing his cover was blown, and hoping that this didn't cause Miss Relena any trouble in the news tonight.

"Better get going, Sir," the guard prodded him along.

"Thank you," he mumbled instead and turned to walk up the driveway towards the estate.

A few voices shouted after him, wanting to know why he was here and how he was related to Miss Relena's recent episode. He wasn't, but he supposed they were asking basically anyone that might know something. He was already fairly well quoted as being a notable supporter of her and the Minister. No one should take that as a surprise.

Two quick honks sounded behind him as a car pulled through the crowd up to the gate. A rather suspicious looking gold coupe.

So, Dorothy had driven herself up here. And she was early. Turning, he quickly did a scan of the area, helping to ensure that none of the overzealous crowd decided to make a run past security as the gates opened for the car. No one tried though, and it seemed they were rather used to getting out of the way.

Once the car passed the gates and they closed behind her, Dorothy drove up to him, her window still down from having confirmed herself with security. "Master Winner! Need a lift?" she smiled.

Glancing up the short distance to the house he chuckled at her. "No thanks, I think I can walk."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged and drove on.

By the time she had the car parked in front of the doors and had pulled her luggage from the back seat and gotten out, he was already beside her. Without waiting for his offer to help her, she quickly added a couple bags to his arm and then pulled her purse and jacket out to carry herself.

Her sunglasses were still on, her hair uncharacteristically without a headband for the moment as the length swirled around with the chilly breeze this afternoon. She wore a checkered skirt that passed her knees with knee-high boots, exposing exactly two inches of skin only through the slits in the sides of the skirt. A sweater set complimented the brown of the ensemble in a very flattering manner.

She finally emerged with everything and she bumped the door closed with her hip. The wind however chose to be unaccommodating and tossed a lock of her hair inside as she did, catching her. With a scowl, she opened it again and removed her hair before shutting it harder this time.

Quatre really tried to keep from laughing but failed miserably.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled as she passed around him and the car towards the front doors. It was so good to see her again.

* * *

Dorothy had stayed with Relena a couple times before, so she took it upon herself to introduce him around to the couple people that worked with the house. Most of the security paid them little attention and made themselves scarce as the two waited for the lady of the house to come home.

It was an impressive place. Nearly the whole house was wired and bugged to prevent any intruders, but even knowing that Quatre was hard pressed to find the telltale signs of it. His and Dorothy's security clearances were enough that they could talk and work within these walls in relative privacy though. At least their bedrooms wouldn't be under surveillance.

They sat in the East sitting room of the estate, one of the few rooms on the main floor that wasn't monitored, and kept themselves company. But the unpleasant kept poking into his thoughts, and he figured here and now would be the best place to mention it.

"I spoke to Heero earlier. The security details seemed to be better than he had expected," he started.

"You all worry too much," Dorothy brushed it off from her seat on the couch beside him. She was the only person he knew that habitually took the middle seat of a sofa.

"After all of this, I think her security has a right to be a little apprehensive." She only hummed at it, but nodded to herself as she gazed out the window, looking a little distant. From the corner of his eye he watched her, wondering if she already knew and just hadn't told him. "Dorothy, did you know that Andrew and Byron are with her team now?"

The woman started like she'd been shot, so he assumed that meant no. "What?"

He nodded at her reaction. "I was a little surprised when Andrew walked into Heero's office today in full uniform. Both of them transferred under his command a couple weeks ago right after graduation."

Dorothy collected her expression again but turned away to the window once more. "I hadn't heard," was her only reply.

That seemed very odd, but he couldn't tell why. "They're scheduled to stay until after the fundraiser."

It was slow in coming but Quatre watched as she nodded. "Commander Une has use for them then. Heero's a safe corridor to test them out through. She asked me if I thought they were both genuine, and I said I believed it. I suppose I should have mentioned that putting everyone together might not be the best thing to do."

"Why's that?"

Finally she turned back to him, her eyes unguarded with a little worry. "Curiosity killed the cat."

* * *

For the first time since Mars, Quatre had been presented with Dorothy and Relena together. And even then the two were mostly busy and wrapped up with their work. The two prominent women bickered a bit, but it was mostly in good-natured jabs.

Poor Relena was taking a number of verbal punches over her new love development, but she was blocking just as quickly. Quatre had tried very hard to keep the two on task over the guest list, but after a while even Relena started ignoring his interruptions into their giggling little conversations.

And after a while, he had given up and joined them, finding that neither seemed to mind when he shifted alliance back and forth between the two depending on the various topics. Why was he always the voice of reason?

The three had turned in fairly early though, which was fine with him considering he'd left at two in the morning, his time, to get here. Foregoing even attempting to work on anything he'd brought with him, he tucked himself into bed and was almost asleep by the time the knock sounded on his door.

Loud quick wraps that had him on his feet and alert in a heartbeat.

Sighing at himself, Quatre calmed himself and clicked on the bedside lamp before padding to the door and opening it. Dorothy stood outside with a smile on her face, dressed in the standard tank top and sleep pants he was used to seeing her in by now. "Scoot over, we're invading," she chuckled, poking him in the stomach as she walked into the room with or without his approval.

Relena appeared behind her, her smile far more apologetic than her accomplice's. "This is all her fault," she mumbled to him as she followed into the room.

"Way to pass the buck, Madam Vice Minister," Dorothy snipped before walking over and flopping down to sit on his bed.

Relena shrugged. "Well, we brought cookies," she reasoned back to him.

Quatre hadn't moved from his position at the door, the handle still in hand as he watched the two women. Miss Relena was clad likewise in a peach satin pajama set, her hair back in a braid much like Dorothy's was.

"Yeah, she thought you needed a bribe," Dorothy chuckled. "Typical politician."

"Hey!" she snapped.

The two argued over the finer points of Relena's position against bribes, and Quatre mutely took a casual glance down both ends of the hallway outside. No one was around to seem surprised at the intrusion of the girls.

By the time he turned back, confused over the point of their visit, Relena was holding the package of cookies in her hands over her mouth as she tried not to giggle, and Dorothy was standing again staring oddly at his bed. "Did we wake you?"

"No, I wasn't asleep… yet," he added pointedly.

Dorothy turned to look at him around Relena and raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you actually have a side of the bed?"

He blinked at her oddly before shifting to look down at the bed. One side was still neatly tucked in. Even the extra pillow under the comforter was untouched. Only his side was ruffled and the covers thrown back from where he'd flung himself from it a couple minutes ago. What was odd about that? "Doesn't everyone?"

The two girls exchanged a strange look and then nodded vigorously. "Well of course," Relena started. "Mine's just usually this half," she motioned both hands to take the center area of the bed.

"And mine's about here," Dorothy added, motioning diagonally across the whole thing. Both broke into giggles again like schoolgirls.

Cursing his decision to do Heero this favor for the twentieth time today, he rolled his eyes as the two made fun of his sleep arrangements for lack of anything else. "Is there a point to this visit, ladies?" he finally got them to quiet again.

"Oh, Dorothy, we should go, he looks tired," Relena tried, smiling helpfully.

"Don't be dull," she chided him. Turning back to her accomplice, she walked towards him. "Besides, he's fun when he's tired." Dorothy sauntered up, took the door out of his grasp and shut it. Sealing them all in together before circling around and pushing him back towards the bed.

"You realize that the entire security team knows you're in here, right?" he cautioned. He knew exactly how well he'd fair in a personal fight against Heero, and Quatre was beginning to like his life.

Stopping himself against her attempt to prod him from behind, he caught her hands and mildly forced her to run into his back. After a disgusted little squeak, he actually felt her shrug. "So? We're a group of teenagers. How kinky do they think we are?" she stated.

Quatre paled and lost his grip on her hands at the implication before turning to give her a horrified look.

She only rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, seriously. You'd have to show a hormone before anyone thought that of you," she sighed.

He thankfully stopped himself before he said anything to actually confirm any of his hormones when he heard snickering and finally laughter. Both turned to find Relena seated at the foot of the bed with her head bowed in her hands, laughing for all she was worth at them.

"Oh, great, see what you started? Now she's going to have the giggles for hours," Dorothy tried, but cracked into chuckles halfway through as well.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

"You know, a lot of these aren't really written for mixed company," Relena frowned at the pages of the magazine she was laid over.

She took up the bottom of the bed in the middle. A stack of magazines, a half-eaten package of cookies and her own mug took up the space above her. Dorothy had the far side of the bed, her cup still in hand as she nursed her hot chocolate. Quatre had "his" side of the bed and laid on his back staring hopelessly up at the ceiling, his cup set on the side table along with the original, empty cookie package.

"I could leave if you need me to," he tried again, knowing he'd get the same unanimous no.

"No."

"Fine," he mumbled. He was still playing the part of the unfortunate male trapped by the little sirens, but truthfully this was fun. Embarrassing, and more than a little disturbing, but still mostly fun.

The girls had decided to have a normal night off and act their ages apparently, but two just wasn't enough of a crowd, for whatever reason, and so they were including him. He'd only stated that if they started doing hair, make-up or pillow fights he was going to go stay at Heero's.

He still honestly hoped that this didn't get back to his friend. Finding out from your security detail that your girlfriend had spent half the night in another man's room, with or without another woman present, probably wasn't exactly going to sit well.

"_Name your most hidden secret_," Relena read from the stupid little dare sheet in one of the collected magazines they were scouring for games. "If it was my most hidden secret, why would I tell someone?" she added.

"Dumb," Dorothy agreed. "Seriously, why do you subscribe to these things?" she asked.

Relena crinkled her nose at the idea as Dorothy started to root through them. "I don't. They send me free issues if I have an interview with them."

"_Girl's Interview_?" she read. "How stately of you."

"Hey, never avoid the press," the other snipped.

"Why are you holding a bear?" she asked, scanning the picture on the front cover.

Relena reached up and snatched the magazine back, tucking it security under the pile of others. "The photographer thought it was cute," she mumbled. Moving on she looked through the list before flipping the page. "_Describe the first time you knew someone had a crush on you_," she read before promptly bursting into giggles.

"Someone has a story," Dorothy observed.

Shaking her head, Relena sobered again. "Alright, this is funny by now," she began, stealing another cookie from the package. "There was a boy in my class, Nicholas, before the war started and the school closed. Well, I never even thought about him until Heero brings him up one time when we were all home and Ry's ransacking my house looking for proof that Heero was at my school. And—"

"Wait," they both cut in before she got any farther. Quatre rolled over onto his side to face towards the two girls. "Which school?"

"My original school. St. Gabriel's," she blinked.

He exchanged a look with Dorothy who shrugged at him and they looked back down at her.

"Oh, you don't know that," she mumbled. "Well, OK. He was at my original school for cover because I found him washed up on the beach and didn't realize that he was a pilot, or anything for that matter at that point. So that's sort of where we met," she explained in a rush.

Once again Quatre exchanged a confused look while Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "Did you just say washed up on the beach?"

There was a long drawn out sigh before she slowly went into the details of the story of the couple's first meeting and the time Heero spent at her school. …Along with the subsequent threat on her life that came with that.

"…And now you're dating this man?" Dorothy clarified, completely at a loss as much as he was. "Because we all know what type of award winning personality he has," she grumbled, before dropping her head to hit the pillow next to his elbow that was propping up his head beside her.

"Oh, it was a long time ago," Relena muttered bitterly.

"You know," Dorothy popped her head up and looked at him, "all this time I thought we were bad."

Quatre blinked a second and then broke a laugh at the whole thing. "That's alright. Have you heard how Duo and Hilde got together?"

"Something about pulling a gun on him, right?" she frowned at the memories.

"What?" Relena squeaked. "I thought she tried to recruit him on Colony?"

"She did," he nodded. "And when he slipped out with one of their space Leos she went after him, shot him down—although he doesn't admit to it—and then literally pointed a gun at him during her interrogation."

"Probably his usual turn on," Dorothy threw up a hand and waved it off.

"Dorothy!" the other two chided.

"Oh, joke," she mumbled.

"Anyway," Relena refocused. "The story I was trying to get to was that after Heero joined my team we were home to visit mother, and Ry and Alli found my old yearbook with a picture of the two of us together—"

"Because you obviously spent a lot of time around the guy trying to kill you," Dorothy interrupted again, not getting over that single factor of the story.

"Well, he could have at least given me the reason for threatening me. I had no idea what I did wrong," she shrugged. "I had to find out on my own. But anyway, Ry keeps making comments about—where was I going with this story?" she suddenly asked and looked back down at the magazine.

Dorothy groaned and Quatre laughed.

"First crush, OK. So, Ry's pressing for information from Heero about my life before. And out of nowhere he comes up with this story that he thought a boy in my class had a crush on me because he was offended when Heero tore up my invitation."

"They didn't teach that man manners on the mothership, did they?" Dorothy mumbled. "What invitation?"

Relena ignored her. "So I got to thinking about it and realized that he was probably right. Two years after the fact and I didn't even think about the poor guy," she chuckled a little dreamily. "And after that long winded speech, there's my story, who's next?" she asked happily.

"First crush?" Dorothy sighed. "No, first time I knew someone had a crush on me, right? Oh, I really suck at that type of thing," she muttered.

Quatre cringed at the mention and studied her face as she lay next to his elbow, her eyes closed in thought. "Um… I don't know. The only one I remember both of you already know about," she sighed.

The room hung silent for probably the first time in three hours. Quatre exchanged a worried look with Relena, but neither knew what to say.

"Well, that ruined the mood," Dorothy broke in, picking her head up and looking at both of them before settling on Quatre. "Next," she smirked.

He blinked, having to remember the question again. "Um… I don't think I have one," he gave a displaced smile.

Both women looked at him like he was lying. "Really?" Relena ventured.

He glanced between them again and shrugged.

"You are so oblivious," Dorothy sighed.

"What?" he asked before quickly sobering. "Oh. Does that count Jesimae?" he quietly asked.

Rolling her eyes, Dorothy snuggled herself back onto the pillow. "No. I don't think boldly asking you out counts as a crush," she snickered.

"Quatre! I didn't know you were dating," Relena teased.

"I'm not," he added forcefully. "It was a single, very mistaken, date."

"Was she that bad?" she hesitantly asked.

Dorothy burst out laughing, and then had to embarrass him further by giving a nice overview of the story for her.

Relena only laughed but reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. "That's OK, Quatre. We love you anyway."

"Thanks," he mumbled, trying to sound dejected.

Both women giggled before Relena went back to her magazine. "_Describe your first kiss_. Oh, I don't want to do that," she added quickly.

"Ah! Miss Relena you have to," Dorothy squealed, jumping at the question and moving to be more upright.

Quatre swallowed uneasily, "I agree with Relena, that's a little personal, isn't it?"

"And telling us about falling for the guy who threatened to kill her wasn't?" she asked. "Come on, Relena, was it Heero?"

The poor woman groaned and dropped her forehead down against the magazine page. "If I say no…?" came the mumble.

"I won't believe you," Dorothy added, far too excited about this. Something between the amount of sugar and the early morning hours never really mixed well with her.

"Fine," Relena sighed. "Yes, it was Heero. Moving on." She made shooing movements towards Dorothy.

"No, no, no. It said _describe_ your first kiss," she retaliated.

"It was sweet, wonderful and mushy," she grumbled halfheartedly. "Happy?"

Quatre laughed despite himself and Dorothy didn't believe her for a second. "Come on, where and when at least."

Relena sighed, still face down, but the blush was obvious even like that. "If either of you tell him this, I promise… not to like you anymore," she tried to threaten.

Both laughed again and Quatre rolled onto his back in his narrow strip of bed and watched her curiously from the pillow. "Sure. Heero, your girlfriend told me the strangest thing last night when she was in my bed," he mimicked, getting all of them to laugh out loud.

"See, even Quatre wants to know," Dorothy prodded.

"No I don't," he corrected. "You don't have to say a thing, Relena." Dorothy's face came into view in front of his as she glared at him. "It's a personal item and we don't have any right to pry," he scolded her.

"Of course we do, we're friends," she snipped and focused back on the other woman who had at least picked her head back up.

"Mars. OK? When we were on Mars," she spit out.

Again the room died in shock as Quatre and Dorothy exchanged a guilty look between themselves, and she turned back to Relena. "After Marcus was captured and he came back? Sweet little heart to heart?" she gushed, while still managing to elbow Quatre in the shoulder.

"No," the other sighed, her eyes lost as they stared into space. "Before he went looking for Milliardo and Lucrazia. Just a spur of the moment type of thing, I think. I really don't know what possessed him," she added a little hazily.

"Oh, how sweet. All I got then was—"

She didn't get any farther than that before Quatre used a hand and pulled her arm out from supporting her chin and she had to catch herself. "Miss Relena gave you the story Dorothy, you don't need details," he specifically cut her off from revealing too much.

"Now, what about you?" Relena snapped back to the conversation, thankfully having missed their exchange.

"Me?" Dorothy squeaked. "Oh dear." Stopping for a while to think he glanced at Relena who looked at him with the same expression of abandon. "First kiss, or first real kiss?" she specified.

"What's the difference?" he mumbled to her, realizing that he honestly didn't want to know this.

"A lot," she shrugged, looking down at him again. "I don't think I can actually tell you the first time I pressed my lips to a man's."

Quatre was shocked. Relena was appalled, "That's a terrible way to put that."

"Well, technically I used to kiss my father, but you have to be awfully messed up before that _counts_ as a kiss," she defended herself. "Around home you kissed people more than you shook hands."

Both of her audience members then groaned and brushed it off. "Alright, fine. First time you kissed someone, not related to you, and in a 'man and woman' type of way," Relena reinvented the boundaries with a giggle.

"Bloody politician," she groaned. "I still don't know that. I wasn't exactly Mary Sue over here," she waved a vague hand at Relena.

Quatre rolled his eyes at the two women. "What counts as a 'real' kiss then?" he asked, with a mild cringe he hoped she didn't see.

"Something memorable," she explained. "Something with some meaning to it."

"Fine, how old were you then? Five?" Relena chuckled.

"Very funny," she mumbled. "I think I was twelve actually. Although, seriously, don't ask me what the guy's name was." She ignored the groans from them and continued on. "He was cute though. A son of one of the maids that came with some relative or other that was visiting for a couple months. Now, I did know he had a crush on me," she happily added. "Anyway, one night we were out on the patio balcony chatting, and I kissed him."

"You kissed him," Relena specified the order of that.

"Well, he was taking too long."

The whole room cracked up laughing at that.

"And? What?" the other woman prodded.

Dorothy sighed. "And that was about it. He left a couple weeks later, and I don't think I ever saw him again."

"You have the most depressing love life of anyone I know," Relena whispered at her.

"Oh, shut up!" she whined. "No one's ever threatened to kill me so that I knew it was true love."

Relena promptly picked up a magazine and smacked her for it but they still laughed at the running joke.

"Your turn," Dorothy sing-songed once they had died down again.

Looking up, Quatre glanced at her first and then sobered completely as he turned away towards the ceiling. "I… really don't think I can say," he softly tried pleading for mercy from them.

"Oh, it can't be worse that Miss Outgoing over here," Relena teased.

Dorothy snorted at the reference but also didn't deny it. "Well, _someone_ keeps saying I'm a flirt. I supposed I may as well act the part. Now stop stalling."

She poked at his shoulder and he managed to grab her hand to stop her before internally cringing at the contact. He couldn't possibly say this. "I… uh…."

"Quatre?" Relena softly asked, breaking into his thoughts as he realized both women were now staring at him a little worriedly. "Is this a bad memory?" she asked.

Bad? "No," he refuted easily, and then realized he was only making it worse. "It's just…. I don't know if it counts as 'real,'" he tried to smile instead, hoping they'd believe that.

"Well, it obviously meant something, or you wouldn't remember it," Dorothy advised, shifting to look down at him. "So of course it counts."

Looking up at her, he knew she didn't get it… and probably wouldn't. "It wasn't much," he began before shifting his eyes to Relena so that Dorothy wouldn't see them. "Just a peck on the lips, but it was… nice," he highly abbreviated.

"Ah," Relena cooed.

"That's it?" Dorothy asked.

Looking up at her again, he hid his shock and smiled to cover it. "What were you expecting?"

"Well, I don't know," she shrugged. "You sound like you got caught by the girl with the pigtails on the playground."

"How long did you wear pigtails, Dorothy?" Relena teased.

"Oh, very funny," she gave her a sour look. "Just read the questions."

Obediently she went back to the magazine and Quatre internally sighed with relief. "_When was your first_—oh, wrong audience," she mumbled. "_Describe your first date._ Well, mine's easy," she added bitterly.

"Dinner, candlelight, three other bodyguards," Dorothy giggled at her.

"Well, you already told Quatre's, so you're the only one left," she retaliated.

Dorothy snorted and he looked up at her, expecting some flamboyant way of saying she hadn't found the man worthy of a date with her yet. "I had a lovely evening with one of my former schoolmates a couple weeks ago. It was… miserably boring," she choked on her own air of superiority and deflated to a sigh.

"You didn't tell me this," he accused her. If possible the ache in his chest got deeper.

Looking back down at him she blinked. "What are you, my mother?"

"I hadn't realized you two had agreed to see other people," Relena teased.

Both of them turned to look over at her with un-amused expressions. Poor Relena picked up another cookie to stick in her mouth and went back to the magazine.

* * *

"Who was she?" It was a quiet little question that came out of nowhere.

"Who was he?" Quatre countered in a whisper as well.

At some point during one of their longer arguments, they had lost Relena. She was still dozing quite well under the extra blanket they had gotten from the closet, as well as an extra pillow under her head. She still laid farther down the bed in the middle, snuggled into a ball.

They hadn't disturbed her yet, deciding to let her be for a little while. Dorothy had snuggled herself under her side of the covers at some point she didn't recall and now laid at a funny angle around Relena and so that her head lay on the pillow beside Quatre's.

They had chatted a while before weariness had lengthened their silences. But she couldn't keep the thought from coming back to her, and had finally asked. Only to be redirected.

"He?" she asked, before realizing he meant her date. She cringed despite herself and hoped he couldn't see her expression. "Like I said, he was an old schoolmate."

"One of the team?"

"No," she almost laughed. No, Mitch was anything but the fencing team type. Not that he wasn't physically fit, but just very non-confrontational. "No, just someone whose mother I ran into at a tea party, and one thing led to another," she shrugged. "Nothing interesting," she assured, but then wondered why she was making the effort.

"Oh."

Had he been wondering about it, or was he merely distracting her from the original question? Blinking her eyes back open, she found Relena's dark blond hair looking back at her as the woman slept on, oblivious to them. "Who was she?" she repeated.

The silence lengthened as he didn't answer.

"Do you not want to tell me?" she wondered out loud. "If it's something touchy, you don't have to," she added finally. Slowly scooting down a little, she laid against the pillow and his shoulder, her odd angle making it difficult.

She felt Quatre turn his face to nuzzle a little into the back of her braid. Moving his hand softly so they didn't wake their third, he held it out until she uncovered one of hers and took it. "You really don't get it," he softly began.

Get what? She didn't know why he would be so afraid of telling her about something like this. Unless it was hard to remember. But nothing she knew of him meant that he had someone in his past that he felt so strongly about.

"You'll laugh," he finally seemed to relent.

"No I won't," she assured, giving his hand a squeeze in hers.

She felt him shake his head. "You."

"Me what?" she asked when he didn't continue.

"You're her," he specifically stated.

It still took a second before it clicked in her head. Blinking, she shifted softly and got an elbow under her to raise herself to look down at him. "What?"

He nodded to her, looking worried as he judged her reaction.

She didn't have a reaction. Shaking it off, she got her mind back online. "You mean…." _"Just a peck on the lips, but it was… nice."_ "Oh, I'm sorry," she breathed. The whole episode in her home's dinning room almost a year ago came flooding back to her.

That didn't seem to be what he was expecting. "For what?"

"That was your…. Oh." She closed her eyes on her own thoughts. "I was really the first woman you ever kissed?"

She peeked her eyes open to see him blink at her. "Dorothy, you're the only woman I've ever kissed," he corrected. "But you can see why I didn't really want to say that." He glanced down at Relena's unmoving figure for emphasis.

"Right," she agreed. Now she was thankful she hadn't pressed the issue there and then. Still a little shocked at the thought, she sighed. "You must have thought I was a pervert."

He took his hand back from hers to cover his mouth as he laughed, trying to be quiet. "Why would I think that?"

"I don't know!" she hissed at him. "How was I supposed to know you were saving yourself for something meaningful?" she accused in a harsh whisper, not appreciating him laughing at her for it.

By now the poor man was completely confused. "What?"

"Oh, I'm so embarrassed," she admitted instead and dropped her head back down to muffle herself in the pillow.

"Dorothy?" he lightly questioned. "I don't understand. You have a history longer than your memory of kissing people, and you've never thought that you were bound to be someone's first?"

Oh, that didn't help! Now she had to wonder if she'd stolen anyone else's lip's virginity. Crap, she was a kissing tramp. Fantastic. He was right, she was a miserable flirt. She gave the pillow a hopeless sob and figured she wouldn't be taking this so hard if she wasn't so tired.

She felt a light hand brush against her hair. "Was I so meaningless?"

Dorothy raised her face again although she was sure she was still blushing. "What?" "_I don't know if it counts as 'real.'"_ Her heart sunk again.

He watched her eyes a moment before forcing a little smile. And it was obviously forced. "You said I should have been saving it for something meaningful. …Wasn't it?" he very slowly asked.

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself, unable to form a coherent sentence. She'd hurt him with the remark. An offhanded sentence that she didn't mean. Dorothy didn't even know how to take that back. It was so completely untrue she didn't know where to start.

There was a little hum as Relena shifted, stilling them both as the other woke again. Blinking, she glanced at them to realize where she was and then chuckled at herself.

"Morning," she mumbled, sufficiently ending their conversation.

* * *

"Sometimes, it is the words left unspoken, that hurt the most." – Unknown.

AN: You know you have missed a level of maturity when your slumber parties go co-ed.

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by Spiked Jin


	38. Chapter 38

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 38

She caught him in a hug. A single, tight hug before she'd left his room behind Relena. Just a little hug so that maybe he would understand. Understand everything she didn't know if she could say or explain.

Dorothy could only hope he would know.

This was stupid. If she had any courage at all she would go right back next door and walk in and talk to him. Quatre was literally on the other side of the wall and she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it.

"_Was I so meaningless?"_

Was she so stupid? Oh crud, if she hurt him she didn't know what she'd do. Fear raced through her so fast it made her feel sick.

Dorothy cowered in her bed, the covers pulled tightly around her, trying to keep her shivering down. She was never like this. She stood up and faced things, or at least herself. She didn't huddle in her bed afraid of her own thoughts.

But this was different. This was Quatre. This was the one person she had realized that she based her life on.

Twisting the ring around her finger, she remembered the day she pulled this little thing out of the wall safe of her grandfather's office. The same day she had braved the cold rain and took it to the jeweler and had the little old man size it up to fit her hand.

The day she'd understood. Even if she still didn't know how to form the words.

Quatre had asked about it this afternoon, noticing it immediately since she didn't typically wear jewelry. When she told him what it was, he'd given her a surprised look, but smiled when he asked if she and her mother were getting along better.

With a laugh she had told him yes.

He'd inspected it on her hand and she'd held her breath, wondering what he would make of its compromise to her. His comment was simple, and uniquely his. _"She was beautiful."_ And from the way he looked up at her, she knew he saw something of that woman inside her.

She hadn't come so close to crying in front of him in months. Not even when she told him the story of her mother. Part of her had wanted to crawl into his lap in the chair and make him take her in. But she'd given him a smile instead and then turned away to her own seat.

Dorothy was close to tears again now. This was getting to be too much for her. She needed a better way of handling it, but there was nothing to be done until she got rid of this horrendous guilt that plagued her. Until she knew he knew alright.

"_Was I so meaningless?"_

Of course he wasn't. Did he have to ask? He knew everything else about her, why didn't he know this?

He was her foundation. The stability she had always needed, with the strength to stand up under her. And enough fighting passion to hold her when no one else found the benefit in it.

Was he honestly too dense to see it? Or did he just need the satisfaction of making her say it?

How the hell was she supposed to explain this? It wasn't words. It wasn't even emotions. It was a basic instinct, like the flash of adrenaline in a fight.

Quatre Raberba Winner. Dorothy swore that he flowed through her veins more than blood these days. She had no other definition for what he meant to her. He was simply life.

Him being part of her wasn't a debate. It was a fact that she'd admitted forever ago it felt like. The last time she was here in fact. When Relena had challenged her that she wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him, she had begun to understand that not only was she actually good for him, he needed her. It might be a little egotistical, but she wanted that—needed that—in someone else.

Somewhere after the Christmas party she had figured out that she enjoyed him needing her, and she wasn't about to throw that away. Dorothy had devoted herself to standing on his sidelines for as long as he allowed her to stay.

She loved too quickly. Even before she had entered Relena's school she had fallen for every one of the Gundam pilots and many others like them throughout the war. It wasn't a romantic type of love. It was the feeling you got for the characters of a good story. It was the ideals that they represented and their actions and deeds that made her adore them.

Quatre was no different originally. Although always the curiosity, she hadn't been especially interested until _Libra_. He was the most unsuited for the final battle, unable to give up the childish hope that he could protect those he loved. She'd challenged that, understanding that they both truly had the same goal, just vastly different directions.

He didn't understand. Possibly he still didn't, and never would. It didn't matter.

She had taken on a new position after the war through a group that determined themselves best equipped to deal with the threat that the heroes of the war would be dragged out and assaulted like rabid dogs. And she had chosen her place, for all of those whom she loved. And she was still there. Still on the sidelines behind them.

But Quatre, Quatre was different. He had come back to her, taken her hand, and led her out onto the field behind him. And it was where she stayed, because he wanted her there.

Every tide that washed over him in life hit her too, and she wouldn't have it any other way. As long as he never let go of her hand they wouldn't be separated. As long as he needed her, she wanted to stay there, just whispering in his ear anything that she could to help.

And in exchange, he kept the waves from breaking her, taking the harsh sting and eroding power out of life for her. Her reef. Her foundation.

It didn't matter what happened to either of them individually. Life could run them through anything, and she expected it to, but she also expected to keep this position. She didn't think it was too much to hope for.

Dorothy didn't have any designs on being the pinnacle of his life. She wasn't going to run away with his heart and bury it in the backyard. She didn't even want to be one of the most important people to him. Quatre had his family—both of them—and his friends that were far truer than she was, and all of them held a piece of that heart of his.

All she wanted was to be the voice in his ear. The one always behind him. The one who would understand when everyone else was simply too close, or too far away. To be the one he needed from time to time.

Like now.

He'd grow out of her soon enough and she would have to take a step back. It was a little hard to think about right here and now, but she knew she would. She wasn't ever one to want the spotlight; the shadows suited her far better.

And Quatre Raberba Winner was the one man she knew she would stay in the wings for.

She owed him her life and the second chance on her soul, and she was always one to repay a debt. But along the way, one stormy night in her little home over the lake, he had accepted her gratitude while his kindness had pick-pocketed her excuse for a heart and tied her to him like this.

And now he was still idiotic enough to think he was meaningless? How dare he!

Did he think anyone else could do this to her? Did he think she just threw herself around randomly into the arms of anyone she thought would take her? She'd be damned if anyone else dug themselves this deep into her.

Why didn't the jerk understand!

Two hot tears squeezed out from her tightly closed eyes and Dorothy snapped upright in the bed, forsaking her huddled position or the warmth her covers now provided. She wiped furiously at her eyes, clawing the tears away. She wouldn't cry. She didn't deserve to cry.

* * *

Much like everything else in their relationship, the battle of the sexes was reversed. Tears came far easier to him than to her.

Quatre didn't know why he had such a particular affinity with the emotional response. He just always had. He supposed part of it was that he'd never figured out the purpose in denying it. Tears were only another expression, like a smile or a laugh.

So he didn't mind when they blinked out of his eyes. He lay, staring up at the ceiling on the destroyed bed and simply replayed the night. Some things made him smile, some things didn't, but the thoughts didn't hold any of their own meaning until he got to the end.

"_Who was she?"_

She honestly didn't know. Dorothy was just that oblivious to him. He was beginning to realize that she honestly couldn't see it as long as he didn't say it. She was safer this way, the things she didn't want to deal with, she just didn't.

And she didn't want to deal with him.

"_You."_

"_Me what?"_

"_You're her."_

It hurt. That was all. It hurt to know that he was in love with a woman who looked right through him.

He'd known it, had thought he accepted it, but he didn't. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking to believe he was OK with the idea of not telling her. Of just loving her from two steps away and hoping that he could find a falling piano to save her from and she'd finally open her eyes and see him holding her.

How did she not understand?

No. He couldn't blame her. He was the one who couldn't cope with her.

Dorothy couldn't help that she was perfect. She couldn't help that she was always right with her advice, or that she could turn any conversation around and change it in an instant. She couldn't help that no matter what, she could make him laugh. She couldn't help that she was beautiful and intelligent and held herself like she had no equal.

Which she didn't.

She also couldn't help that she was used to being alone and standing on her own two feet. Or that she was battle-scarred and weary of men as a whole. She couldn't help it if she didn't know what it was supposed to feel like when she was honestly loved by someone.

And he loved her, had fallen for her. He wasn't strong enough to resist. She should have known that. How could she expect any man to resist her once she got this close?

She didn't know that either. She wasn't trying to torment him. She just didn't know. And she wasn't ready to hear it. He had gotten far too close tonight. He'd let his emotions get too high and had nearly pushed himself to saying something he couldn't take back. If Relena hadn't woken when she did, he wasn't sure what he would have confessed to her.

If she would have ever spoken, that is. She'd been shocked outright that he'd asked her if he was so meaningless to her. Mentally, Quatre slapped himself. It was just a hurt statement. He knew better than that. He knew she cared, and she had never tried to hold back her kindness from him since that single little peck on the lips so long ago.

He didn't know what her answer would have been though. She had been frozen and he didn't even know what she had to think of him now.

…What he knew she didn't think of, was him loving her. And Quatre did. Exactly enough to know that she wasn't ready yet, and maybe never would be. At least not for him.

* * *

"Morning."

Quatre looked up from the kitchen island counter he was sitting at and smiled as Relena entered. "Good morning," he returned.

"Sleep well?" she teased as she moved around him towards the pot of coffee that her, very nice, cook Marie had made before she left on errands a while ago.

"Not particularly," he confessed with a chuckle. "I hope you don't take offense if I yawn through most of the day."

"None at all," she happily replied. "If you allow me the same courtesy."

Quatre could only smile at her. It was nice to see Relena relaxed and just enjoying herself. He knew it didn't happen that often around anyone but her friends these days. He liked being counted in that.

"So, what do you think? Is it going to take a bucket of ice water to get her up?" Relena chuckled.

"If it does, you're on your own." He held up both hands and waved it off. Going anywhere near Dorothy right now was going to take an act of courage. And he didn't want that to be part of an evil plot to wake her before she was good and ready.

"Coward," she laughed at him.

"Yes I am," he humbly admitted.

With a sigh Relena walked back to take a seat at the island beside him. "Yeah, me too." Looking curiously down at the data pad in front of him she raised an eyebrow. "Work?"

Nodding, Quatre looked at it too, knowing he still didn't have a clue what he'd been trying to read for the past hour. "Something I have to force myself to get finished," he admitted.

"I have lots of those," she sympathized and patted his shoulder before taking a sip of her coffee. Curiously, it looked an awful lot like the way Dorothy took hers.

Quatre had to turn away from the thought before he started wondering again just how badly he'd screwed up last night. He should have never spoken to her like that. He was ashamed of himself.

"Oh, I'm still the last one up," came the sigh from the doorway as Dorothy floated in.

"Not by much," Relena returned. "I know I hit my snooze button for forty-five minutes."

Dorothy laughed at it and then discovered the coffee pot on the side counter. "Oh, bless someone's little heart," she muttered and went for it.

He and Relena both laughed at her. Same old Dorothy. Why did he ever worry?

* * *

"What is the difference between ecru and eggshell?"

Dorothy peeked a look around his shoulder as she found him in front of the table settings display. Relena couldn't leave the protection of the house without at least half of her team, so Quatre had gotten roped into helping her do a little browsing for information on how to set the ballroom for their function. She needed ideas to run past one of her soon-to-be distinguished guests.

And it was seriously trying her patience.

"Isn't it obvious?" she stated easily, gazing down at the fifteen different shadings of basically white napkins.

Quatre turned enough to blink at her and tried to smile. "Honestly, do women see in more colors than men do?"

With a laugh Dorothy shrugged. "Joking, darling, I can't tell the difference either. Where's Davonte when we need him?"

He chuckled at her and nodded in agreement.

But she was finished with creative place setting tags and centerpiece arrangements. Relena had told her she wanted the decorations in pink just to spite her, she was sure, and Dorothy was officially vetoing the politician. It was still her house.

Stealing his arm, she tugged him along after her towards the exit before that saleswoman caught up with them again.

"Are you folks finding everything OK?" the cheery voice called over the displays and racks.

Crap. "Yes. Thank you," she replied as she tried to quicken her pace while tugging the hapless man after her.

"If you're interested in the centerpieces, I just got in a beautiful selection of summer brochures."

"Oh, that would be helpful," Quatre added before she could shush him.

Why did she have to ask him to make sure she actually did some work on this today? Stopping in misery, she eyed the distance to the door and gave it a remorseful expression before he took her hand off his arm and held it as he led her, just as forcefully, back through the maze of cases towards the lone other person in the place.

"When is the date?" the lady asked, her smile corked up for full sales pitch.

Dorothy tried to keep Quatre between her and the saleslady, but he hadn't released her hand and she knew she was stuck there. "Right now, it looks like the first part of June," he replied for her.

"Ah," the lady cooed. "My favorite time too," she nodded to herself before opening a gigantic book of knick-knacks and assorted frou-frou crap.

"Now, you're looking mainly for table linens today, then?" she asked again even though she'd heard the answer twice by now.

"Yes," Dorothy finally tried to smile. The faster this woman handed her some nice little take-home sheets and let them go, the happier she would be. She had a pressing conversation to get to with the man that was holding her hostage and she intended to get to it whether this pushy storeowner liked it or not. "I have white and ecru sets already," she stated just to be catty.

It worked at least as Quatre tried to hide his smile.

"But you want to add some color," the lady nodded, not noticing the tease at all. "I completely understand. What are your colors?"

Dorothy resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. "Pink."

"That makes such a lovely compliment," the woman gushed before flipping through her book for something. "Always very popular."

Quatre exchanged a look with her and she gave him a mild shrug.

"Have you thought about using your own skirtings and adding a top color swath?" she asked.

At that Quatre smiled and stepped aside as he tugged her forcefully to the front and kept her there. Oh sure, leave her to make all the hard decisions. "I've thought about that," she answered. She probably had boxes of different swaths in storage somewhere. Every lady of the chateau made it a point to change the colors.

And her legacy was going to be pink? No way. She hadn't sunk that far into the docile hostess role yet.

"Well, we carry an extensive variety of colors here. All you need to know is your table sizes," she smiled again and then pointed down to the book. "For pre-made centerpieces we have a variety. These are tissue styles." She flipped the page, "These are silks." She turned another page, "And these are silks and satins. How formal is your reception going to be?"

"Black tie," she answered, gazing through the images of fluffy, overzealous creations. "I'd really rather have something smaller. The tables are round and I want people to be able to converse over them."

"Oh, of course," she hummed, flipping pages again.

Dorothy didn't know why she was bothering with this. She was going to end up calling the florist and saying she needed thirty-four bowls of roses anyway. …Pink roses. Blah.

"Here are the candle selections. They are very popular. Smaller profiles, and can be set up and taken down very quickly if you have to rearrange for a dance."

"No," she unthinkingly mumbled. The tables would be around the dance floor. "These are pretty," she added, tapping a finger on a three candle set circling a shallow flower arrangement.

"They're very pretty," she agreed instantly. "You can choose colors on the candles and up to three different colors in the flowers."

Well, maybe she could appease her friend and not have to stick with the tacky pink after all.

"What color is your dress?"

Dorothy looked up from the page a little taken aback. "I don't know yet." What did this woman expect? She wasn't that fascinated with a formal event that she had her dress made this far in advance. She hadn't even gotten the guts to ask her dear little captor over here to escort her yet.

The woman was visibly surprised but smiled again. "Often they suggest using your color for the garnishing flowers at least. Most designs for a June bridal are done in white, of course. But if you choose ivory we can change the order."

Dorothy blinked at the woman uncomprehendingly. She felt Quatre turn to her and she looked up at him confused until she saw the obvious embarrassed shock in his eyes. She followed his glance down to where he still held her hand, just before he purposefully released it.

Popping her eyes open she snapped back to the woman behind the counter. "This isn't a wedding."

The lady visibly started, and Dorothy realized that out of all three of the shops they'd already been in she hadn't thought to say it was just a formal party. They probably all assumed….

"My apologies," the lady went on. "I don't see many non-engaged couples your ages come through here," she laughed at herself.

And Dorothy tried to smile through the "couples" reference too. "That's alright," she stated quietly. "You said you had some brochures? We have a couple other arrangements to look into."

…Like rings and the honeymoon suite.

* * *

"Don't you think you're taking this a little hard?" Quatre asked, eyeing the bowl of Espresso Brownie Fudge ice cream she was nursing.

She glared at him over her bite before lowering her spoon and smoothing out her expression. "I don't know. First a, way too overly perky, sales woman decides to plan our wedding reception. Then the haughty florist has the nerve to tell me that lilies don't make good boutonnière flowers. And then to top off my day, the bum on the corner offered to serenade your 'cutie pie' for you for some pocket change."

Quatre tried very hard to bite back his laugh at that but didn't interrupt.

"Mr. Winner, I believe I have every right to be annoyed. And, so help me, if it takes ice cream, I'm going to use it."

"Alright," he finished chuckling. "I can see that it hasn't been our day. But drowning your sorrows in chocolate isn't the answer."

"You're right," she sighed. "Let's go. There're only two places in town that sell rum balls."

"Dorothy," he chided with a laugh.

"Fine," she muttered and went back to her ice cream before turning to look out the windows of the little store. Their mesh table was set to look out down the street. The early afternoon had turned cloudy and was promising a little rain.

Quatre didn't mind. Although not really wanting to be caught in it, it was still kind of fun for him to watch it rain on Earth.

"I could do far worse."

He blinked and turned back to her. Dorothy hadn't moved from her spot, just watching the graying sky outside. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Hmm, nothing," she mumbled.

Deciding not to press her on it after today, he looked out once more. He was in time to see the first of a few drops sprinkle on the sidewalk outside.

"Master Winner?" she called his attention back. "Technically your invitation is by the Marquis to our little formal function." Raising her eyes to his, she held him, "But I was wondering if I could have the honor of your escort?"

Quatre was thrown off guard by the offer. He'd known that he would be there anyway, trapped by his offer to help with the security conditions, but…. Remembering to blink again he shook himself out of it. "Of-of course," he stuttered. "The honor would be mine, Lady Catalonia," he returned once his brain had clicked back online.

With a chuckle she gave him a humble, "Thank you," and nibbled at her ice cream.

He hadn't been expecting that. Quatre had managed to escort her before, but this was an extensive guest listed, possibly media exposed event. "Are you sure?" he added uncertainly.

Dorothy looked up at him again, "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shied away from her look and gazed back out the window to where people were trotting by to try to escape the rain. Taking a breath, he figured there was no harm in talking about it. "Andrew and Byron will be with the team. And I get the feeling that I'm not really their favorite person."

She actually chuckled at that. "You try to let me handle those two."

Well, that didn't settle him, but it was a positive step. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stared out at the drizzle as well. "It's also going to be a little more public," he offered. "You've always been leery of being seen with me."

"But you're on my soil this time. And under the protection of the Marquis' invitation," she softly refuted. "We are also both noted supporters of Miss Relena, and I think it would serve her well to show a bridge of the divide."

"You're not worried then?" For some reason it seemed odd, but somehow heartwarming as well.

"Maybe I just can't bring myself to be." He turned fully to face her, but she didn't look back, a little lost to her own thoughts until he watched her take a look down at her mother's wedding ring on her right hand. "I'm starting to wonder if it's worth caring about at all."

There was something definitely not right with those words, but Quatre didn't know how to ask what was eating at her. He just got the distinct impression that she was shrugging off an awful lot all at once.

"I'm sorry about last night." Her words broke into his thoughts as she looked over at him again. "I still don't know exactly what to say."

Shaking his head he brushed it off. He had honestly hoped that she'd just chalked it up to him being tired and not knowing what he was saying. They had been happily normal all day and he decisively didn't want to ruin that. "Please don't be. I didn't mean to say something like that you."

"No. I'm still the one that needs to apologize," she sighed, and then laced her fingers together to prop her chin up with her elbows on the table. "I wish I could make you understand, but I don't know how."

He gave her a confused look, "Understand what?"

"What you do mean to me."

That was a sobering topic. But Dorothy sat, casually looking at him. No bubbling emotions, no heedless words or actions, no heart-wrenching expressions or feelings. Just a clear, undaunted determination. What he expected, just maybe not what he wanted.

Looking away in embarrassment, he tried to avoid her steady gaze. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't know you care."

"Do you?" she pointedly cut in.

"Of course I do," he softly admitted.

"I'm not so sure." She seemed to be reasoning through something, and Quatre quietly held his breath and waited. "It's not the first time you've seemed rather insecure about how I feel about you. I'm not sure I understand why?"

How was he supposed to explain that? "Emotionally unstable?" he tried to sidestep with a shaky smile.

She did chuckle at least. "Yes. But I doubt that's your problem here. What is it?"

Turning back out the windows to avoid her eyes, he fought for words. He couldn't possibly say that the hard-won affection she gave him just wasn't enough anymore. "I don't know, Dorothy," he quietly said.

She never moved as he stared out at the streets around them. She simply sat and waited, and Quatre knew he didn't have a choice but to try to give her an answer.

"I don't ever want you to feel like I don't appreciate your concern," he began. "I do. I don't know what I'd do without you anymore," he confided quietly. Fear clutched at him as he prayed for the right words. "I guess… I just never know where I stand with you."

There, he'd said it. He was more than likely going to regret it, but he'd said it.

"I don't either."

Blinking, he turned to find her in the same position, just watching him.

With a mild shrug she seemed to pull back into herself again. "I told you once that you're better to me than almost anyone else in my life. I wasn't joking. Quite truthfully, I have no idea what that means. The only people I've been this attached to are dead."

That wasn't a cheery thought.

"I'm a little lost too," she admitted, closing her eyes on him. "What I do understand is that you've become a part of me that I cannot deny. And for once, I appreciate that in someone."

She looked back at him, and all Quatre could do was stare at her a second as he sorted through that. But gradually it gave way to a lopsided grin before he turned away with a laugh of abashed joy. "Thank you," he managed even though he couldn't get the smile to go away.

And Dorothy resorted to laughing at him. "If I'd have known you were going to blush about it, I would have said this a long time ago," she teased.

With a groan he dropped his head and went back to his milkshake for something to distract himself with.

With another giggle she dropped her arms away from the table and leaned back in her chair. "Careful, Master Winner, I'm going to have to start suspecting that you have a crush on me."

He about choked on his drink but caught himself carefully. "That's the last time I let you take a quiz from a stupid magazine," he grumbled. She nodded readily and he gave himself a sigh of relief that she was kidding.

Stretching her hand across the table she offered it to him and he set his cup aside to take it. "I do still feel badly about stealing your first kiss though. Not because it didn't mean something to me," she added hastily. "But just because I didn't have that right."

Quatre watched her curiously but cringed a little at the idea of "the right" to share a kiss between them. "You're certainly not the one between us that should be apologizing for that," he softly added, averting his eyes to their hands instead.

"I'll never complain," she purred at him with a giggle.

Breaking a smile he shook his head as he rubbed a thumb over her hand, admiring the ring on her finger for something to do. "Why do you think I would?"

"Complain? I don't know," she sighed. "I suppose I sat there and listened to Miss Relena's sweet little story and then figured I had ruined your chances at the same thing. How many people can say that they married the first person they ever kissed?"

Looking up at her he found Dorothy gazing out the window again, watching the slow drips of rainfall. "I wasn't aware they were engaged," he chided.

"Of course not. Mr. Self-Repressed is going to have to lighten up first," she smirked before turning back only enough to wink at him.

Rolling his eyes he went back to the study of her hand in his. He could do that with little debate. She was the first of everything in his life. Kiss, crush, love, longing. If she turned into the "only" of his life as well, he would never believe he missed out on anything. He was already sure of that. "I don't mind."

"Mind?"

He stared off into space looking at their hands, his mind far removed to that night. A stormy, rainy night that he could almost relive from the well-worn memory. The collection of emotions that ran through him, the hot feeling of her against him as he tried to comfort her. Her apology and acceptance of his forgiveness. The hope and happiness that she had given him simply by allowing him to help her. The way she clutched onto a piece of his shirt as she came to terms with her family's deaths. And that little thank you with the faint kiss she had brushed on his lips, sealing them together forever after that.

"Quatre?"

He blinked, but didn't manage to come out of his memory completely. "I don't think you'll ever know how much that night means to me," he whispered back to her.

"To you?" Dorothy questioned. "I thought I was the one that fell apart."

He managed a smile before he looked up at her to find the gray-violet eyes that he'd come to know so well since then. "I managed to help." Looking at him, her eyes gave him a warm smile. "I finally felt like what I'd been through made me able to empathize with someone else," he admitted slowly. "I found a reason for it, maybe. I can't describe that," he shook his head.

"How did you know what I needed to hear?" she asked, losing her focus in thought as well. "You made me look at how I viewed the deaths in my family. I never told you anything about feeling guilty for them."

"_You weren't responsible for what happened to your family." _

"_I don't want to forget."_

"_You won't forget them; you just don't have to be responsible for them anymore."_

Because he'd lost himself when he thought he had lost his family…. "I know what I felt when I lost my father, and when I thought I'd lost Iria too. I'll always live with that guilt."

"You weren't responsible for what happened to either of them," she corrected.

Quatre couldn't look at her; he focused on the table instead. That may or may not be true, but that wasn't the guilt he was talking about. "I am responsible for what I let that pain do to me," he admitted. But his throat tightened up on him. Pain flashed through him as he once again refused to tell her the whole truth.

Her hand tightened in his and he was brought back again. "Darling, no one knows how they will react to something like that unless it happens. There's no test, and no training that can prepare you."

That was certainly true. Nodding, he agreed with her. "I guess that's what made me happy that I could help. I think I managed to put some things to rest too," he admitted to her, meeting her eyes again.

Leaning forward, she braced herself against the table and gazed at him. "We're getting pretty good at working off of each other," she smiled.

And he chuckled despite himself, loving how she could do that. "My actual point was that I… I guess I enjoy that being my first kiss," he got out, fighting another probable blush.

With a sigh she shook her head. "Well then, I want to specifically tell you that you have never been meaningless to me."

He cringed at the mention. "I'm sorry I said that."

"Truthfully, you're an awfully quick study," Dorothy mused, raising an eyebrow at him. "Because if that was a first, then Mars was…?"

Quatre sighed and turned away. "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time."

"I dare say you're a natural, Master Winner," she purred at him. "What did I manage to do to set that off?"

Oh no, he knew that tone. She was being mischievous and letting her curiosity get the best of her again. "Did I mention I was highly drugged?" he managed, still not looking up at her.

"Yes, the next day," she grumbled.

Again he cringed. "You're never going to let me forget that are you?"

"No. And you'd better make sure that it doesn't happen again."

"And I thought Sally was bad," he mumbled. "I just really didn't want to worry everyone. I figured I'd go to sleep and let it wear off."

"Which it didn't," she reminded him.

Quatre looked up at her, remembering a few of those dreams that had plagued him through the night and turned away again. "No."

"Well," she sighed, "I suppose now I can say I am at least more than just a drug induced mistake."

"I never said it was a mistake," he hastily refuted her. Dorothy raised an eyebrow at him and he raised a hand to rub at his temple. "It's just the same thing. I had no right to be so…" he fought for words, "intimate with you. I never have," he quietly finished, ashamed of himself again.

To his surprise she giggled at him. "Well, you can't help it if you're a better kisser than I am," she chuckled. "After all, I'm apparently only 'nice,'" she added bitterly.

Somewhere between shock and embarrassment he cringed. "What was I supposed to say? You didn't catch on," he defended himself. If he would have said it was some life-altering shock to his system they would have never let it go.

"Of course I didn't catch on. How was I supposed to know you're a prude?" she defended. "Well, alright, maybe I should have. But nice? That's what you say when you want to brush someone off. That's just boring." She sobered, "Am I a bad kisser?"

Quatre gave her a dumbfounded expression and could not figure out how she'd come to that idea at all. "No—What—Well, how would I know?" he finally decided on a response.

With a pitiable groan she dropped her head to hide behind a hand. "Oh, forget it," she waved it off. "I've never taken offense to the times I… caught you in a weak moment," she snickered. "You're a passionate personality. I suppose I can't expect less."

What was that supposed to mean? Passionate? He could assure her right now that he'd never been truly passionate with her yet if she was interested. "Excuse me?"

Ignoring him, she shook her head. "We need to find you a girlfriend," she mumbled instead.

_Not unless you're offering_, he mentally quipped. "Trying to get rid of me?" he teased.

Looking him right in the eye she raised a trademarked smirk. "Not in the least."

Quatre didn't really get that, but he couldn't help his smile at her.

Instead of expanding on that, she took her hand back from him and collected her purse and the folder of their hard-won project ideas. Looking out, he noticed the shower was down to a drizzle again and somewhere the sun was trying to peek out again for a few seconds at a time.

Throwing away their trash, he took his jacket, which he was now thankful she'd talked him into buying the last time he was on Earth, and followed as she led them out the door. Standing out in the damp, cool afternoon, he greedily sucked in the rain-scented air.

Dorothy consulted her folder and he tried to peek at it over her shoulder. "Where to now?" he asked, tenting his jacket over both of them to keep the fine mist off.

With a sour groan she closed the folder again and shook her head. "Let's go back. I've had it with this stuff. Relena is going to accuse us of having skipped out on her anyway."

"Alright," he shrugged, guiding her along as he tried to keep the rain off of both of them as they hurried down the street towards her car.

"Rainbow."

"What?" he stopped when she paused at the street corner.

"A rainbow," she said again, pointing down the street low in the sky as a stripe of fuzzy colors streaked down in the distance.

Quatre stood against her side, still holding his jacket over them as he stared at it oddly. "I thought rainbows were supposed to be round," he mumbled, slightly awed by the sight.

Laughing, Dorothy curled into his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. "It depends on how much of it you're seeing. This is obviously very big, but not very bright."

It only seemed to show red and green and a touch of blue against the flat gray clouds, but it was still almost magical to him. Just a fuzzy little line of colors, but it was… "Pretty."

"I love Colonists," she whispered before he felt her lay a cheek against his shoulder, "they're so impressionable."

"Don't ruin it," he chided, still not turning away.

But the sun disappeared again behind the clouds and the bow slowly faded out as well, turning the sky dark once more. And again she laughed, bringing him to turn to her at his side. Her smile was undaunted as the wind swirled around them, catching the ends of her hair. It was enough to make him forget that it was impossible to keep the cold mist of rain off of them.

Instead, he lowered his jacket and pulled it around her shoulders instead. Using it, he pulled her in to him properly and forced her to step in front of him as she blinked up at him curiously. What it was, he couldn't say, but he knew he felt the pull of her on his heart as well as body and mind.

"Do you intend to get us soaked out here?" she chuckled at him.

"Yes," he nodded with a smile at her. Pulling his jacket tighter in he released the material and wrapped his arms around her in a hug to hold it on. He just needed her close for a second. After all of this, he just wanted a minute to call his own with her.

"Quatre? Dearest, are we all right?" she softly asked, sounding uncertain of the question more than the answer.

All right? He thought they were far better than all right at the moment. "Yes. At least I think so," he added, shifting a little to place his cheek next to hers.

He felt her nod and then squeeze him a little before she leaned back in his arms to look up at him.

As soon as he found those stormy gray eyes, he lost his thoughts completely. "Kiss me?" he asked, leaning in close enough to bump her nose with his.

"What?" she blinked.

"For old time's sake?" he asked with a smirk, making sure his arms around her were going to keep her there.

She gave him a weird look but laughed anyway and he tried not to seem too eager. "We need to get you out of the rain. You obviously have a fever," she shook her head. But despite her words, she moved an arm from around his waist and up his chest to the back of his neck.

He let her guide him as she raised her lips to his in a quick, light touch. Her trademark, but he had warning this time and got to return it for once. As she pulled away again, he didn't release her or open his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" she chuckled again.

He moved to look down at her and broke a smile. "For caring."

"Oh, Quatre," she sighed, giving him a little maternal look. Her hand moved from his neck to his cheek as she shook her head at him. "Get in the car, Sweetheart. You need a nap."

With a pat on his cheek, he let her disentangle herself and slip away as she trotted around to the driver's side of her car, taking his jacket with her. And with a happy sigh he only knew he would never get over her.

_I'll wait for you. As long as it takes, Dorothy. I promise, I'll wait._

* * *

"Oh, this is cute," Relena offered.

"Which one? Oh, that is cute. Sweetheart, neckline though. I just don't think you're going to look good in that," Dorothy cautioned

"If that's another flat-chested remark, you can find another guest of honor."

Quatre sat, very quietly, in the corner of the sitting room in a chair by himself while the two girls swarmed through catalogs and magazines again. A collection was thrown out on the coffee table and the ladies were randomly seated around one of the sofas. Relena sat tucked into the cushions at the end and leaned over the rest of the unused space to hold her materials. Dorothy was on the floor and using the thing like a desk.

And by this point, he was just hoping they had forgotten he was still here as he tried to push his mind back into the gardens' layout and a way to set a security perimeter so that Dorothy could allow it as an alternative to the ballroom for the guests.

The two were supposed to be working on the guest list again, but it was going about as well as it had last night. So instead, they were browsing dress selections. And he was to the point where he was doing anything to make it seem like he wasn't overhearing this, but the two were impossible to ignore.

"Did I say that?" Dorothy defended.

"You implied it," Relena challenged. "Not all of us pad our bras you know."

"I do not!"

Oh, Quatre did not need those types of ideas in his head.

"I still think it's cute," Relena went on.

"Fine, order it. Look like an adolescent boy. See if I care," Dorothy snipped.

Relena shrieked and promptly whacked her with a giant catalog.

Dorothy rolled away out of reach as she laughed for all she was worth.

Quatre didn't dare even breathe, lest he give himself away and get dragged into this discussion somehow. He had already learned far too much about both women during this trip, along with any number of things that, being male, he had just never wanted to know in general. He was still licking his wounds from innocently learning that the reason for Dorothy's typical collection of frosting flavors in her refrigerator at home was not because she planned on baking. …Unless of course cake was the craving of the month.

Honestly, he had twenty-nine sisters; he should be able to cope better with this.

"You take that back!" Relena commanded.

"Alright, alright!" Dorothy caved before sitting up again and cringing her way back to the books she was looking through. "You're so touchy."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Are too."

"Dorothy!"

"Order the dress."

With a snort Relena made a production out of flipping the page. "I don't want it anymore."

Quatre bit back his smile as Dorothy broke out in peals of laughter. These two were going to be the death of him.

Truthfully, over the past thirty-six hours, Quatre had come to love Relena like another sister. His concern for her had been real before, and had formed the moment he first saw her and Heero's reaction to each other in Sanq. She was a good, warm—if not a little headstrong—woman.

He had always thought she was pretty, but she had "bloomed," for lack of a real term, in the past couple years. The idea of her looking like an "adolescent boy" was impossible. Relena was petite, naturally small-framed and slender, but definitely feminine and beautiful. At least he would admit that she was.

Dorothy was simply different was all. She would always have both a height and weight advantage on Relena. Dorothy was tall and anything but delicate-framed. A bit broad shouldered for a woman, her physique was toned and physical more than slender. Were she a man, her body type would have the V shape and muscular signature many strived for. Having far more in the… curves area then was only natural.

That wasn't a thought he needed in his head either. He was already going to have trouble sleeping tonight. That was, if these two didn't decide on a repeat performance.

"Here, this one," Dorothy's voice interrupted his thoughts once more as he still stared uselessly at the aerial drawing in front of him.

"I'm getting tired of the off the shoulder look. It always reminds me of that thing they stuck me in when they made my proclamation as Queen."

"…I picked that dress," Dorothy went indignant.

Quatre finally looked up in time to see Relena cringe even though he could only see the side of her head. "Oh," she mumbled.

"No, I'm joking," she waved it off.

Relena groaned at her and Quatre bit his smile back again and went back to the diagram for the fortieth time. "What color are you wearing?" she asked instead.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I don't know. I don't dress myself for these things."

"You don't?"

"No. That's what the dress makers are for," Dorothy brushed it off as though that actually explained something.

"Who else asked?"

"Oh, that miserable woman at the frou-frou store," Dorothy grumbled. Snapping a magazine shut she threw it over her shoulder and Quatre looked up, knowing—and not liking—what was coming. "Do you know what that woman thought?"

"That you have lousy taste in centerpieces?" Relena teased.

"What's wrong with my candles?" she snapped. Relena laughed and waved it off instead. "Anyway. No, she actually thought I was planning a wedding," Dorothy ground out, obviously still annoyed.

"What? Now you're so obsessed with us that you're going to plan my wedding too?" she laughed.

"Not yours, mine," Dorothy sighed miserably. "She was trying to see if I was wearing white or ivory so I could match the flowers."

Relena cracked up laughing so much she actually fell over on the couch on top of her items.

"I didn't even get it. I thought she'd lost her smiling little mind until Quatre looked at me like someone just walked over his grave."

He very quickly went back to staring at his sheet as she waved a hand in his direction with the reference.

Relena stopped her laughter instantly and sat back up with a gasp. "You mean she thought _you two_ were getting married," she waved vague hands between them.

Dorothy slumped to lay her head against the sofa cushions with a pout, and he merely tried a nervous smile before turning very specifically back to work again, knowing he was caught.

"Ah," Relena cooed. "I love foreshadowing."

How or why Quatre ended up in the corner trying to protect a cringing Relena behind him from being beaten to death with a dress catalog he would never know.

* * *

"Drew, you're obsessing."

"You're the one who is so sure he's not what he says he is," Andrew defended himself.

Byron dropped into a chair beside the desk in their apartment. Boxes still stacked themselves everywhere as the two had had to move in a hurry to be out of the dorms and into a residence before their assignment with the Vice Minister sent them off world. Finding an open, two-bedroom penthouse apartment was as good as it got for the moment.

"I didn't tell you to go through the whole damned database looking for him."

"I didn't."

His partner gave him a look that Andrew didn't even have to see to know. "Come again?" With a pointed look, Andrew got him to curse and drop his head in abandon. "Two freaking weeks, Drew! I want my career to last more than two freaking weeks."

"Calm down," he mumbled. Typing in his command for the tenth time, he finally hit pay dirt in the right portion of the personnel records. "Hello, Mr. Winner. It wasn't easy to find you."

"I hate it when you talk to the computer," he grumbled.

"It's a better conversationalist."

"You got the guy or not?" Byron snapped.

"This can't be it. There's nothing here." Andrew looked through the empty records. _Not applicable_ showed up on everything from history to testing scores to current status. "Why does he even have clearance?"

No one without a badge got to the thirteenth floor of Preventers HQ. And no one without something got a file in the deepest directories in the available database.

"Maybe he's a friend of Yuy's? He's been associated with Miss Relena enough," Byron suggested. "You have to be cleared to be that close to her."

Andrew turned back to the other man a second before that clicked. "Civilian clearance." Turning back he switched files and called for a general search through those records instead. Coming up with the right Winner, he scanned through the full details of his background check. Nothing was even flagged for follow up on him. "The guy's a gold star."

"Figures," Byron mumbled.

But something else caught his attention as Andrew scanned the information. _Current Status_ wasn't something you saw on a civilian. Opening the tab, it held a few lines of identification, but everything under it was marked unavailable. But it was more than enough as he stared at it openly for a second. "…_Civilian Agent badge number 0163_."

"Civilian what?" Byron asked before leaning over to stare at the screen too. "How much do you have to donate to get one of those?"

* * *

"It takes a lot of experience for a girl to kiss like a beginner." - _Ladies Home Journal_, 1948

"I married the first man I ever kissed. When I tell this to my children they just about throw up." - Barbara Bush

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by Spiked Jin


	39. Chapter 39

_Revelations_  
By Isis  
Chapter 39

The elevator required a key card to allow someone access to the penthouse apartment, otherwise one had to wait for someone to "answer the door." Luckily for her, someone was home.

The doors parted effortlessly between the two as they both stood mirroring each other on either side of the opening, standing straight, tall and with their hands behind their backs.

With a smirk, her eyes narrowed just noticeably. A call to a bout? Oh, what fun. "Andrew."

He didn't miss the acceptance and returned the half-smile. "Dorothy." _Salute_.

With a raised eyebrow she tilted her head, "Might I come in?"

Ever the gentleman, he accommodatingly turned sideways and waved her through. And without further acknowledgement Dorothy swept into the expansive living room and brushed by him.

Boxes and crates and a few totes were still piled in various areas. Furniture was nothing but two desk chairs around the built-in computer hutch on the North wall and a couple deck chairs set along the other wall where a dining room was probably supposed to be. The elevator actually rose into the center of the apartment, so a full semi-circle of the glass walled building-top stood exposed to her.

"Well now, at least you have a view," she commented as she wandered slowly in, scrutinizing the area as she heard the elevator doors close again. Finding a shirt draped over one of the stacks of boxes, she daintily picked it up by the collar. "Although, I dare say maid service must be extra." Turning enough to toss it back at him she winked, her smirk never leaving her lips.

She didn't bother to notice if he caught it or not as she rounded away and sauntered slowly forward. "I would ask if there is a reason you came, but it's you we're talking about," Andrew ventured, sounding rather amused with her. _En garde_.

"When have you ever known me to rely on a reason?" she returned before twirling slowly around to face him again. "So, is the lady of the house at home?" she teased.

Andrew had apparently never taken his eyes off her as he stood rooted to the same spot, holding the shirt. With a single chuckle he mildly shook his head. "Out for groceries, I'm afraid."

"Byron cooks?" she graced him with a surprised expression. "I bet that's delightfully nasty."

"I'll be sure to mention you said that," he returned.

With a smile she turned towards the windows again. "This must have been a rather impulsive move."

"Yes. I wonder how you found us so quickly."

She'd made him curious. How nice. "Oh, don't believe you aren't being watched, dear," she patronized him before turning back and pacing towards him once more. "You're a Romafeller, after all."

"Until they carve my name in stone," he agreed.

The unofficial mantra of the Foundation made her smile as she stopped beside him and pointedly scrutinized the crest of their beloved Academy hung proudly over the elevator doors. "You're refusing to move on, Andrew." She made it a point to turn her eyes to look up into his. "You should do yourself a better service than that," she cautioned. _Lunge_.

"I like my heritage," he countered. _Point_.

With an acknowledging smile, she closed her eyes and turned away again. "Then give me the tour, Mr. Varnhem."

"This would be the front mess," he waved a hand around the open half of the apartment. "And behind you would be the back mess."

"Ah," she cooed, slipping around a pile of crates. Throwing him a look over her shoulder she slowly slipped around the elevator wall. "Back halves are always more revealing."

"I suppose that depends on what you're looking for."

With a laugh she strolled around the elevator and out of sight. "Dirty laundry," she teased.

He had no choice but to follow her as she led slowly down the hall that seemed to divide the two enclosed bedrooms. Snooping, she peeked into both rooms, the doors open and obviously not expecting company. "Well, it's never been hard to distinguish you two," she mumbled.

She noted the disaster of a mess in one room, and the almost organized set in the other. Although both were seemingly reduced to sleeping on the floor for the time being, it wasn't hard to figure out which belonged to whom. "How did you two share a dorm room?"

"Very loudly."

With a laugh she figured that was probably truer than most would think. "This isn't your style, Andrew," she commented, wandering slowly into the neater of the two rooms, knowing it was his. Not bothering to notice if he was following or not, she gave the place a bored look and then took in the view of the cityscape before her again. "Byron's inelegant bachelor pad, perhaps. But it's not nearly… stuffy enough for you," she observed.

"Stuffy? I used to get 'purist,'" he commented from the doorway.

"People change," she shrugged, walking up to the windows away from him.

"I guess they do. …Because I like this," Andrew added.

Turning back, she eyed him in mild surprise. This really wasn't Andrew's style. He was far more of a traditional type of person, much like herself in a lot of ways. "Really? I suppose I should take that back then."

Still his eyes never seemed to leave her as she turned to the view for something else to watch. He was getting to her again. "Apparently no one's taught you to play nice yet," he ventured.

With a smile she eased the nervous spike in their duel. "Dear Andrew, I haven't changed that much," she teased, turning to face him fully.

He stood solidly in the doorframe, blocking her only escape as though she wanted it. The dark brown eyes studied her a moment longer, considering his opponent. "What are you here for?" he finally asked.

The direct frankness coupled with her own brand of word play. _I shouldn't have abandoned him so easily_, she sighed inwardly. Closing her eyes and lacing her fingers behind her back Dorothy shook the thought off. "I'm the friendly reminder service."

"For what?"

With a cheery giggle, she moved back towards him a couple paces and lowered her voice for secrecy. "Two weeks on the job and you're already poking where you don't belong."

The surprise was mild, and laced with suspicion. Shock was not common to this man. "Well… you must be right about being watched."

"I don't intend to lie to you," she brushed it off.

"Of course not. That's beneath you," he supplied before finally turning his eyes from her and entering the room to toss the shirt into a hamper in the corner. "But I am curious. Do you get the dental plan with a civilian badge? Because I'm still trying to fill out that paperwork." _Point_.

She turned towards the rest of the room to hide her mental curse. Lady Une must have failed to mention that he got her profile as well as Quatre's. "Oh no. We don't get any fun things like that," she brushed it off. "Or clothing allowances," she added, finding his closet open and a number of uniforms hanging neatly, still in their packages. "Beige isn't your color. You're going to have to hurry into at least Sergeant and get your grays."

"Just how much do you worry over my advancement potential, Dorothy?"

With a laugh she twirled back to him, knowing what he thought just by the tone of his voice and loving it. "Why don't we say your placement is… particularly nice for that."

Again he scrutinized her, a smirk coming to his lips. "And I wouldn't suppose that you had anything to do with that, did you, Agent Catalonia?"

"Why should I?" she shrugged. Walking back she closed in on him. "I wouldn't dare be so presumptuous to think you can't handle yourself," she cooed. _Corps-a-corps_.

Andrew actually seemed curious about her. "I found it odd to be placed with your beloved Miss Relena straight out of training."

Smiling she nodded up at him, "Admit it, Andrew, she has an appeal, doesn't she?"

"Admittedly," he smiled with a humble little bow of acknowledgement.

_Point_. "Do take good care of her," Dorothy chuckled and swept away to pace out the door again, her hair brushing his side. "But to answer your real question, I had nothing to do with it."

He followed her as she slowly moved back to the living room. "Our backgrounds mean nothing to this assignment?"

"Now, I never said that, did I?" she turned over her shoulder to smirk at him before continuing on.

"I've been giving you too much credit then. I would have assumed that you were simply looking after your best interests."

"Always," she nodded as they rounded the elevator again. "But this isn't about Miss Relena."

"Ah. Then stop retreating and tell me to leave him alone." _Red card_.

Dorothy's heart stopped in her chest but her pace continued unaltered. With a faked shrug she sighed. "Well, if you already knew that, why am I here?"

"Because I found a nerve," he quietly disciplined her. "I didn't get it. There had to be something to the man that piqued your interest. It's a compliment in itself." _Point_.

Dorothy stopped when she entered the living room again and gazed out the windows once more, not trusting herself to turn around. She had forgotten how to duel this rival, and had lost.

"What is it?" he asked, stepping up just behind her shoulder. "What do you two have that no one else seems to?" His voice was quiet, concerned but prying.

"Nightmares."

The surprised silence was tangible for a long moment before he respectfully backed away a step. "Maybe I was right to worry about you, Dorothy."

He still did. Whether he admitted to it or not, she knew her Admiral enough to recognize that. With a smile she shook her thoughts away again. "Everyone worries about me," she mused. Turning back she looked up at him, "I haven't figured out why, but it's nice all the same."

"A mark of affection," he nodded politely to her. "You might want to start taking a better look at those things." If he hadn't added the soft smile to his eyes it would have been a touch hard enough to leave a bruise. As it was, it was an instructor's critique she wasn't sure she was worthy of from him.

But she appreciated it. With a hum of acknowledgement Dorothy brushed past him towards the elevator again. "Always a pleasure, Officer Varnhem." Calling for the elevator once more she mentally sighed in relief that it was still there.

"I'll expect you to visit since you know your way."

With a chuckle she turned a smile back to him as the doors parted, but narrowed her eyes at him. "Admit it; you don't actually like this place."

With a look around them he sighed, "No, I hate it."

Giving him a knowing nod, Dorothy pecked a kiss on her finger tips and raised her hand to touch the plaque above her as if it was the original hung over the front doors of their alma mater. "Please do take care of all of my friends." Getting in she looked back at him, meeting his eyes as he let her go. "Yourself included."

The doors slid shut between them once more and Dorothy softly closed her eyes.

Andrew stood and watched the elevator doors for a long moment before turning and walking over to the front windows. It was a few minutes before he caught sight of Dorothy's pale blond wave of hair as she crossed the street below.

_You're forgetting me already, aren't you?_ he thought. _I understand. I do hope this is the only correction either of us will need, General._

He watched her figure get into a bright gold coupe and it was enough to make him shake his head with a chuckle as the car pulled into traffic and sped away.

* * *

"Dorothy?"

"It's handled as well as it can be. No harm done," she replied.

"I didn't realize I was putting you in such a position."

"None of your concern, Lady. I promised to be helpful, and will continue to be should you require it."

"Of course."

* * *

"It's too cold for March out there," Byron complained as he stepped off the elevator and carried the sacks in. Andrew's silent form stood at the front wall of windows, and he tossed him a look as he moved into the kitchen. "What are you brooding about?"

His friend still didn't move. He simply stood, staring out the window he leaned against. "Dorothy came by to give us a housewarming present."

And Byron stopped in his tracks in front of the island bar that separated the kitchen from the front dinning room/living room area. Setting the sacks down, he eyed his friend a second. "That's nice. How'd she know where we were?"

"She seems to have better friends than we do."

He wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what it meant that their former third had mysteriously shown up without invitation. "So what was the present?" he asked, beginning to pull the items out of the grocery bags.

"A good piece of advice."

Mentally cursing he carefully stared at the man's back. "Cheapskate. Could have at least got us a bottle of something good."

To his absolute befuddlement, Andrew actually laughed. "She also didn't have high regard for the idea of you cooking."

With a shrug he looked down at the results of his shopping trip. "Which reminds me, frozen pizza or meatloaf tonight?"

"Chef's choice," he responded, finally moving from the window towards him.

Trying to look unconcerned Byron moved most of the items to the refrigerator on the opposite wall. This didn't seem right. "So, what'd she say?" he finally just asked.

"Stay away from her boyfriend."

He cursed his way out of his shock once the frozen box of lasagna landed on his foot. "Excuse me?"

Andrew chuckled at him and moved to hand him the rest of the items off the counter.

Byron numbly took the boxes and stared at him just in case the man went for the kitchen knives. OK, they didn't actually have any kitchen knives yet, but the whole thing was a little freakish. "Drew?"

"May not have been those exact words," the other shrugged.

Somewhere deep inside, Byron was infinitely glad that he wasn't going to be standing up for the couple's wedding as the best man. There was something just a little disturbing about two people too much alike for their own good, and he didn't know if he could be responsible for looking after their vows in good conscience. "So… need me to go buy a bottle of something good?"

* * *

She took the long way back. A very long way back Dorothy realized by the time she was so lost she didn't have a clue which way she was going. The capital city was huge, and she knew only enough to find her way through the main sections. She had started to notice that she was in a boring residential district about half an hour before she actually managed to get herself on the right road back to Relena's.

Ah well. It wasn't like she was all that enthused to have to put up the happy face of someone who had just come from a cheerful visit with her friend and young cousin. Cheerful. She snorted to herself. It had been, until Une got her alone in her office and gave her a detour.

MarieMaia—no, no—Marie Une was well and in good spirits as usual. For all practical purposes she was now the adopted daughter of Commander Une's biological mid-life crisis. Granted, the Lady was only twenty-three, but it was as good of a cover as any. Besides, it looked nice to the press to have taken in a war orphan if they started questioning her prior service records.

The two needed each other, and they really were family now.

Marie was excelling through school with her tutor's help and would finish far earlier than her age would typically dictate. That wasn't unexpected. For good reason she was kept out of the public eye as much as possible to allow people time to forget her face. Her appearance was maturing and her hair had grown out, helping to ensure that no one would think of her as the young girl who "died" trying to usurp the government a year ago.

She had conversationally asked how long it took Dorothy to grow her hair that long. And she had replied seven years and switched to a different topic.

Dorothy wore her hair much the same way her mother had. Except that for most occasions, her mother had been an expert in getting her hair to coil into intricate twists and braids. Dorothy usually didn't bother.

When she was a girl, her hair was hip length and her mother would tie it up now and then, but it would never stay for long. The thinner strands made it more difficult than it apparently was for her mother.

It was even more difficult to get it to stay back away from her face and out of her way after her mother's death. She didn't bother with ribbons or curls or any other frilly non-sense those days. She would swat it back in a bun or holder and curse it when it would fall out.

And she remembered dimly the day she couldn't take it anymore. At seven years old, Dorothy hated almost everything, her hair included. So she had taken a pair of scissors, went to her own bathroom, and cut it off.

It wasn't a mad rage or some destructive tendency that the house staff probably thought it was. She was just sick and tired of it and she didn't like the way it drew attention to her. So, she very calmly braided it neatly, added two holders to it, and cut it straight across the back of her neck. One of the maids evened it up for her later when she couldn't get it to lay straight.

To this day she had never had it professionally cut. One of the maids had always just taken a comb and scissors and snipped the ends now and then when she asked. And by now it wasn't any challenge to cut it herself.

Dorothy spent most of her young years wearing the shoulder length hair up in a sporty ponytail that would bob along with her movements. She held no desire to make herself attractive to anyone, and for most formal functions it was worn the same way, even if her grandfather forced her into a gown befitting her status.

That abruptly changed at twelve when everything else in her life did. Dearest Treize. He picked on her about looking like a floor-scrubber. And each time he bested her in a duel, which was every time at that point in her life, he would find a way to pull the holder out of her hair as his prize.

He accused her of denying her best, God-given instincts and talents trying to be a boy.

And then she met Davonte Fellentain, and realized he was right. Von was the curious outsider who had no business being in her home. At least to many of the men of the council he was. To her, he was simply delicious.

Everything from his manners to his accent to his odd anecdotes intrigued her. To this day she didn't know why. Possibly because he was one of the very few men who had honestly set out to do nothing more than make her laugh.

And he was one of the only men to see her as a woman in training. Without Treize and Davonte, Dorothy could honestly see that she would have been Lady Une all over again. Not that she would ever begrudge the Lady of her distinctive style, her strategies or leadership skills. She was an inspirational woman, truly. But Dorothy couldn't imagine being completely military minded anymore.

She was the mixture of both disciplines. And she was far more interested in espionage than in battle lines.

Their beloved Treize did know how to choose them, didn't he? Or perhaps he just knew how to mold them. Either way she thanked his possibly burning soul.

But Davonte was a coach that she couldn't have replaced. Truthfully he did nothing of any great importance to her. It was just the way he approached her. The way he approached every woman or thing of beauty. Davonte was a flirt, and he had no shame.

Apparently somewhere along the lines, she'd learned that too well.

So, she went through four years of dance lessons, most of which were not actually ballroom style as she told her grandfather. Three of the same years she was stuck in voice lessons by contract for the other class. And she absorbed every once of etiquette that she could gather, from actual training to keen observations.

And she left her hair down.

Her typical little headbands soon became her trademark once she joined the art crowds and began to enjoy the fruitless flatteries and gossip of the frequent showings. For four years she let it grow, only allowing split-end trimming. Finally she had to cut it when it began tickling the back of her legs when it reached the edge of her fingertip-length uniform skirt.

She was due for another cutting. In the years since she quit school it had lengthened farther since she rarely wore something so short in public. A few of her recent assignments had proven that to her.

Dorothy grew used to the style of her hair and began to love it. For the same reasons she originally cut it, she now wanted it. Cutting it off again would be a travesty. She would have to relearn how to move, walk, turn her head, everything.

Funny how a single feature could state so much about a person.

As she made her way through the crowd around Relena's gates and was ushered in by security, she couldn't figure out why her mind had spent so much time on such a worthless topic. Dorothy supposed she was subconsciously avoiding other issues.

…Andrew.

Parking, she stepped out of the car and towards the house, forsaking her thoughts for a better time. The wind caught the ends of her hair, making them sway behind her and she smiled at the feeling.

Finding her way through the house, she ventured into the sitting room and chuckled at the sight before her. Quatre was on one sofa, data pad in hand and pecking away at it. Relena lay on the other, stacks of sheets and notes scattered around her as she spelled out a name for him.

"Miss Relena! Don't tell me you caved into him and actually made a list," she teased.

"He seems to have learned your art of persuasion," she laughingly grumbled.

"Somehow I doubt he learned _my_ art," Dorothy refuted with a snicker, taking off her coat.

"You have no idea how much work it took, so if you interrupt, you're going to this dateless," Quatre warned, still adding things into the pad in his lap.

"Yes, dearest," she humbly acknowledged. Draping her coat over the chair at the side of the area, she paced over and sat on the couch to look over his shoulder at the list and check boxes he was collecting.

Dorothy didn't care in the least what was on the screen, she just needed to leech a little radiated warmth.

Relena went on to double-check the person's address and Quatre followed her. Absently he shifted closer to her and settled the screen in his lap to make sure Dorothy could see.

There was nothing in Quatre's manners that was learned, studied or practiced to precision. Any of his etiquette he had simply grown into naturally. His kindness was left transparent.

Slipping off her shoes, Dorothy curled her legs up on the couch and braced herself gently against his side as Relena moved on to the next name. He tapped it in as it was spelled out, not discomforted in the least with her snuggled position.

It really wasn't fair. She had denied Andrew his place in the list of men in her life simply by her own lack of attention to him.

She would have to correct that way of thinking.

* * *

"Are you sure, Ma'am?" the man asked again. "The lilac point is far more docile."

Dorothy knelt on the floor of the man's living room carefully watching to see if she could coax the fuzzy little ball of fluff to come to her. "I've never been especially interested in docile," she refuted as the kitten came forward and sniffed at her opened hands.

"They usually have such sweet attitudes. I'm sure he'll calm down, he's just a little feisty as a kitten," the breeder added.

She smiled down at the cat as he looked up at her when she moved her hand to pet him. "Just how I like my men," she purred down to him.

* * *

"A woman never forgets the men she could have had; a man, the women he couldn't." – Owen F. Carter

Proofread by Random Pixy  
Edited by Spiked Jin


	40. Chapter 40

AN: Welcome to chapter 40! Six hundred plus pages and counting in Rev. alone! Seriously, you dear readers deserve a merit badge for reading all of this.

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 40

It was sort of interesting to note that he never knew who he was going to find in his house at any given time. Quatre walked through the entryway of Winner Manor, wondering whose rental cars were parked outside.

He didn't have to wait long before a giggling shriek was heard, followed by thudding footsteps down the main stairs.

"Quatre!"

Turning, he looked up to find Nashita barreling down the stairs towards him at full tilt. He cautiously checked to make sure she wasn't actually being chased by some attacker before mentally sighing at himself. Smiling he opened his arms to hug her as she raced around the railing and straight at him.

In self-defense he spun her halfway around on impact to lessen the blow of her mad dash. "Oh, you're never going to believe this!" she squealed straight into his ear as she squeezed him nearly in two. "I'm getting married!"

After the ringing stopped he broke a chuckle at the announcement and tried to seem surprised. "Really?"

"So much for telling him together," came a mumble from behind them.

Nashita left him instantly and flung herself into her fiancé's arms. Manul had apparently come down at a normal pace behind her and was now trying to calm the giggling woman.

And Quatre laughed at them. "Congratulations," he sincerely nodded to them.

"She's been like this all week," another voice popped in.

He turned to see Iria standing at the second floor landing of the stairway. Beside her however, was his sister Almira. Only once before had he gotten to meet with the eldest of their family. At least that he remembered. Apparently she remembered him at four rather well.

She was a quiet, sweet woman, oddly the opposite of Aleigha, her "twin" sister. Most of them were incubated as twins or triplets. For what reason, Quatre wasn't sure. He seemed to be the oddity in that regard as well, having been a single project. Not to mention one that came four years after the last set of sisters.

The brown haired woman gazed down at him with a quiet smile. "We're giving you fair warning, Quatre."

"Warning of what?" he chuckled at them.

"You weren't really old enough to get in on the rest of our engagement parties. So now you get to host," she chuckled.

And he blinked up at her oddly before shrugging. "Well, this is certainly your home too."

"Oh, we know," Iria added, leaning over the railing. "It should be fun to have it full again."

Quatre glanced back at the betrothed couple in time to see Manul flinch. "Full?" he asked instead.

"Well, of course," Almira chuckled. "All of her sisters are expected to wish the bride well."

And Quatre paled.

* * *

"So, you wouldn't accept flowers?" Quatre asked, finding that odd.

"I didn't say that I wouldn't accept them. I just think it's… tactless," Dorothy flourished from the other end of the line.

It was a pointless debate, but much like the rest of their conversations, it seemed to hold significance somehow. "So, a poor guy that shows up on your doorstep, probably sweating out of every pore in his body anyway, automatically loses credibility with you if he has the forethought to bring you flowers," he tried.

Her laughter echoed over the phone at his description. "If the poor soul is too nervous to control his sweat glands, bringing flowers won't be the only points against him," she chuckled.

"Do you have a thing against all forms of consideration?" he sighed at her.

"I just think flowers on a first date is… overrated," she defended.

"But subsequent dates are permissible?" he asked with a chuckle.

"How would I know?" she bitterly grumbled.

Apparently her dating hadn't picked up any. Not that Quatre personally minded that thought at all. "No repeat on your first date?" he managed to tease.

She threw a disgusted sounding snarl back at him for an answer. "I've given up on men," she refuted.

"Well, see if anyone sends you flowers with that attitude," he picked on her.

"I'm not sure if I'd like flowers," she mused.

"I thought every woman loved flowers," Quatre asked.

"When have you ever known me to be normal?"

Hopelessly shrugging that off, he nodded to himself. "Good point. But no one has ever sent you flowers?" He found that odd for some reason.

With a hum she seemed to consider it a minute. "I don't think so. Not me personally anyway."

Quatre mentally checked the item off in his head with a little smile.

"So, how's the family today?" she moved on.

"Oh, help me," he half pleaded, ensuring that the door to his bedroom was still securely closed.

Dorothy's laughter wasn't doing anything for his frazzled psyche on that issue. "Darling, I don't know what you're so stressed out about. For the first time in your remembered life you get to have all of your sisters in one place. You should be happy."

"Oh, I'm happy," he mumbled. "I just tend to show my happiness by hiding in my room and cowering out of sight until I leave for work."

He wasn't actually kidding. Over the past three days Winner Manor was finally getting to see the entire collection of her children come home to her. The tradition was somehow of family lineage, he thought. Quatre actually had no idea where it had come from. He'd never been invited to an engagement party before. Apparently because it was typically the sisters of the bride-to-be who threw it in her honor in order to give her a load of notable advice.

Nashita and Manul announced their engagement a week ago, filtering through both the family and the Maguanacs. When it reached a few of the eldest sisters, it was decided that there was only one place that could possibly house all of the family, and the number of children. And since Nashita was still in school, it had to be done while she was out on break.

Which meant that all thirty of the Winner children were coming home. And along with them, probably twenty grandchildren.

"I can't keep them straight," he quietly admitted into the phone. "It's bad enough that I don't know my own sisters, but you have no idea how many nieces I have."

"Nieces? Doesn't anyone in your family have a boy?" Dorothy asked.

"Oh, of course," he corrected. "But if they're over three or four they weren't brought along since this is mostly for the ladies."

Again she laughed at him. "Quatre, honestly, you're wonderful with names, this shouldn't be that big of a deal."

With a sigh he rubbed at his eyes. "We seem to have an annoying amount of family resemblance."

"Ah," she hummed. "I do suppose that could be a problem. Well, look at it this way; they probably can't keep everyone straight either."

"The older ones seem to be able to. But I actually found Placida drawing little sketches of all of us to help her remember," he laughed.

"Sketches?"

"That would probably make more sense if I said she's actually a professional cartoonist," he mumbled.

"Well, you have an extensive collection of talents in your family," she mused.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I think we have enough doctors and medical professionals in the family to staff a small hospital, and still have the best pediatric ward in the Sphere."

"General concern and love for others seems to run in your genes."

Quatre chuckled at the assessment.

"So stop hiding and get out there and mingle. Corner one of your older sisters and latch onto her side until you get more comfortable with names and faces. She can fill you in," Dorothy advised.

"That's a good idea," he mumbled, thinking that through.

"Of course it is," she replied. "I've played the 'family name game' more times than I care to remember. Granted, all of mine were cousins."

With a sigh he nodded to himself. "I don't even want to know if I have cousins."

* * *

"So now, little brother, what's the story with this lovely young lady we keep seeing you with in the gossip columns?" Almira ventured into the soft din of the dining room's flock of women and young children.

Oh, Quatre knew this was coming. Getting this much estrogen mixed with wedding fever meant he was going to be in trouble. Especially after the random sprinkling of photos that showed up of the two visiting Miss Relena's together.

"They are called 'society pages,'" Placida countered from down the table. Considering she worked for the political department of such a publication, she tended to take a little good-natured offense to being called gossip mags.

The room managed to snicker at her before it died down to hear his answer.

And Quatre sat, looking questioningly around the room at a good chunk of his sisters. "…What?"

Most of the women turned to groaning or sighing at him.

"Oh, Dorothy!" Nashita happily added from her place of honor at the head of the table a couple seats down from him. "We should have invited her. She's practically family."

"Oh," chorused the intrigued group of women.

"You're not helping me," Quatre mumbled back towards her.

Nashita rolled her eyes at him and waved it off. "Dorothy's fun, she'd love this."

"How do you know her?"

"Who's this?"

"Quatre's dating?"

He sighed in misery at the group and hung his head. "No, I am not dating. The _society pages_ just don't have anything else to print," he defended.

"Well, why aren't you?" he got nudged from the side. And the rest broke into laughter.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Nashita brushed it off. "They're so cute together," she teased.

"Who is this?" someone asked again.

"Dorothy… what's her last name," Nashita sideways asked him when she trailed out of her announcement.

"Catalonia," Placida supplied for him, obviously well versed on what was being printed about her little brother's associate. At least from one paper.

"Oh, right," Nashita happily went on. "Lady Dorothy Catalonia. From former Europe."

"_Lady_?"

"Europe? As in Earth?"

"Something tells me she's not Muslim."

"Well, she must be nice. Right?"

A rough chuckle broke through the collection of feminine voices. Quatre turned to find Manul stepping in to take a place at his betrothed's side. "Nice? Not in the least," he smirked.

"Oh," they cooed back.

Quatre dropped his head with a sigh.

* * *

"She's… quite the young woman," Aleigha tried. How she'd gotten pulled into this, she didn't know. She wasn't even sure how some of the others figured out she had personally met Dorothy Catalonia before. And she certainly didn't have a clue what to say about her.

"Meaning?" Almira pressed.

Her older twin by eight days didn't get out of L2, or even away from home, that often. The mother of three young children, and the owner of a daycare center, her vacation time was rather limited. And apparently now that she was here, the eldest planned on making up for lack of attention to certain family issues.

"She's great," Nashita broke in and announced. The most outspoken of the Lady's supporters was carrying a lot of weight with the others, especially since she was the one settling into marriage soon herself. "She's smart, and a good sport, and she's easily the wittiest person I know."

"There's a difference between witty and sarcastic," Aleigha mumbled.

Nashita threw her a dirty look for it. The others had watched the two throw things back and forth like they were playing ping-pong, only interjecting questions and comments to keep the match going.

"So you're saying she just may not make a good Mrs. Winner," Almira quietly guessed.

Aleigha met her eyes but refused to say yes or no to that. She just honestly wasn't sure at this point.

Nashita, however, jumped to her feet off the sofa. "What?" she cried at them. "I don't believe you just said that. Almira!"

"This is our brother," Placida calmly interjected. "We're not arranging his marriage. His choice in dating, let alone a wife, is up to him."

"Oh, don't be so naive," Cala halted the on-rushing argument slowly splitting the sisters. "The group of us girls can sit by and talk about the luxury of 'choice' in our relationships for days. That has no bearing on Quatre. He is the head of the line and the only one who will carry on the lineage."

Most of the younger girls looked at her appalled, but Aleigha noticed the older women present were far more understanding of the situation. "Cala's right. None of us have the same burden he does. And while he may have his choices ahead of him still, finding someone appropriate means finding someone who can understand both her role and his."

The room broke into disagreements again, and she noticed Almira set her little girl down from her lap and speak quietly to her and the other child present in the room. With nodding giggles the two young girls skipped out of the room and Almira rose to her feet to walk up to her side next to the doorway.

"They don't remember mom very well. It's difficult for the younger ones to grasp the concept," she quietly said to her as the others continued a little debate.

"I know," Aleigha returned. It was a nagging feeling. They were both twelve when their mother passed away. Nashita would have been five. Placida only four.

Quatre was only a few minutes old. Their mother never even got to hold him.

"Maybe we should speak to him," Almira quietly added, sounding worried.

Aleigha studied her sister quietly for a moment, not knowing what to say to that either. Since the moment she had first heard the name Lady Dorothy Catalonia, she had worried. But she had also seen the way her brother spoke of her, and even how the two interacted together. There was so much trust there.

Whether the Lady gave her warm, fuzzy feelings or not, she knew that their brother cared for her deeply. And as such, Aleigha would respect her. She would never claim that Dorothy didn't belong. Truthfully, the girl seemed to have an amazing handle on the aspects of being an heiress even at her own tender age.

But her elder sister was right, Quatre probably deserved to be spoken to as the true head of the family. He had proven his right to that.

"I suppose we should."

* * *

Quatre had Kayrie balanced on a hip as the little girl sleepily hung onto his neck. Of all his nieces and nephews running around the house, this one had taken quite an extensive interest in him. Some of his sisters speculated that it was because he looked so much like her mother, Cala. There were very few in the family that actually got their mother's platinum blond hair and blue eyes. But they were traits that had also been passed along to the girl in his arms.

Although the little one claimed to be almost five, she was actually just over four, and she was a sweetly shy girl who would speak only to those she knew, or if prodded by someone close to her. Quatre had apparently managed to fall into that category rather quickly.

It was heartwarming for him. The role of impartial uncle was going to be hopelessly difficult.

"I wondered where she was going to go to sleep," a voice stopped him at the top of the stairs. Turning he looked back as Cala hurried up after him. "Why can't I get her to go to bed like this at home?" she joked.

He chuckled at her and turned to watch the girl rub her eye as she laid against his shoulder. "I doubt she's ever a problem."

Cala snorted at him. "Wait 'till you have kids," she refuted before turning back to her daughter. "Kayrie, honey, come here," she softly said as she took the girl from his arms.

Kayrie stirred and blinked her eyes open to see who had her now. "Mommy," she mumbled before laying her head back down on a shoulder again.

"Tell Uncle Quatre goodnight," she told her.

"Night-night," she hummed, giving him a little wave over her mother's shoulder and then rubbed at her eye again.

"Night, sweetheart," he whispered, brushing her hair back to tuck behind her ear.

"Let's go find your night-night bear," Cala said to her, walking off down the hall with her.

Quatre watched them go, a smile still playing on his lips.

"She's taken quite an interest in you."

He turned to watch Iria coming down the opposite hall. "I guess she has," he chuckled.

With a nod, she stopped a few paces away and half turned back the way she'd come. "Can we steal you for a while, Quatre?"

"Of course," he responded and moved after her. "What do you need?"

Iria took his arm and walked along with him down the left wing, her mood going quiet. "Have you done anything with Father's things?" she quietly asked.

That subject sobered his thoughts. "Not here," he replied. He'd gone through the office at work and had moved some things back to their father's former bedroom. He hadn't brought himself to do much else. "I started a couple times, but it never… got finished," he admitted.

"I understand," she nodded, patting his arm. "Aleigha and Almira were hoping to talk to you. While the little ones turn in, it might be a good time."

"Talk to me about what?" he asked, finding it just a little strange.

"We don't often get a family reunion," she smiled.

No, they didn't. Even after their father's death, they hadn't all been together. The girls had come at different times when they could to pay their respects and he hadn't stuck around for most of it either. Quatre actually had no idea what Aleigha and a couple of the others had told the rest about where he was. He knew that not many of his sisters knew the truth about his involvement in the war.

Aleigha especially had worked him through some of the worst of taking over the company, at least in name, for that time while he was gone. She had never once told him not to go back to war. She had never mentioned it at all.

None of them ever did.

The two walked along quietly to the room at the far end of the wing. The master room was identical to his… on the absolute opposite end of the manor. That wasn't by accident. He had moved out of this wing when he was probably twelve and had never seen the point in returning. There was a terribly guilty feeling that always struck him when he came this way.

The door to their father's room was open, and the two eldest were already inside. Almira was seated on the bed, looking idly through the box of things that he'd brought from the office. Aleigha was holding the picture frame off the bedside table that had never moved. Neither seemed distraught, just reminiscent.

He let Iria lead them in and the other two gave him a smile and a hello. The nagging feeling ate at him as the four of them went through some things, pulling open the desk drawers and the nightstand. But the mood was kept light, the girls tossing around a few jokes even.

It was nice to sit in on their memories. Especially with Almira and Aleigha, he finally got to hear stories of his mother. And the two were more than happy to fill in the questions he had. The doubts he'd held for so long about her seemed a little trivial now. Quatre would never know her, but by the descriptions he felt he did.

"I got her wedding ring," Almira ventured to the group. They turned to watch her gaze down at the ring on her own figure. She stood on the opposite side of the room next to the closet doors. "I was the first to get engaged, and I suppose dad really didn't know what else to do with it. He gave it to Charles when he asked dad for permission."

"That's nice," Iria added. "I'm sure he would have rather seen one of us have it."

Quatre's thoughts drifted at the description. "Dorothy wears her mother's too," he added. "She found it again a couple months ago, I think."

Iria looked up at him curiously, "She's already lost her mother then?"

He hadn't realized that even those who had met her wouldn't know her family's history. "Yes. Dorothy lost both of her parents very early. She was raised by her grandfather, until he was killed during the war," he abbreviated.

The women around him balked at the description. "Who is she with now?" Almira asked, sounding maternally defensive of someone she'd never met.

"No one. She lives alone," he answered. "She's always been very… independent," he gave them a tight smile.

Iria and Aleigha both managed to chuckle at the obvious understatement.

"How old is she?" Almira asked, still obviously concerned about her living conditions.

"Very soon to be nineteen," he responded.

Apparently none of the women present had ever thought of her being most of a year and a half older than him. "How did she get to be a negotiator at her age?" Iria asked.

With a laugh he leaned back against the night table, "Quite naturally. She took over her grandfather's accounts after the war. Rebuilding from that wasn't easy, but she managed. Since then she's worked her way through replacement courses, as well as investment projects here and—more notably—on Mars. She's actually taking her bar exams Monday," he added.

Quatre felt like he was bragging about her, but in truth he was proud of Dorothy. Not that he had anything to do with it exactly. It was just a vicarious feeling of accomplishment. He was happy for her. She had worked so hard at putting everything back together again for herself, it took a strong spirit to do that.

He thought he caught an odd glance pass between the two eldest of his siblings, but couldn't figure out if they had a question or not.

"She sounds truly exceptional," Almira noted instead. Aleigha turned away towards the window behind her.

Quatre nodded to himself at the assessment. Always the exception.

Turning, he picked up the frame that had been passed among them through their discussions and had ended up once again on the nightstand. He was sure it was the last picture of his parents together. They both seemed youthful, happy.

The three girls went on reminiscing and wondering over a few things. Laughing, he couldn't help but begin to draw a real picture of his two parents together.

"I remember this place looking like a hospital room," Almira quietly sobered, taking a look around the expansive bedroom. "Monitors and trays and everything else."

Quatre looked over at his sister from his place at the side of the bed, wondering at the description. He had never thought of her being sick before her death. Truthfully, he didn't even know what she died of.

"Almira," Iria quietly chided her. She turned on the bed to fold her knees under her.

"I remember her being happy though, don't you?" she asked back, looking over to her twin.

"Yes," Aleigha added, a little lost in thought. "I remember her still laughing at herself when it took her four names to get to mine."

The group chuckled, knowing how easy that was between themselves too. Quatre looked down at the photo again and the happy smile of his mother. He really did take after her appearance. His sisters had commented more than once that he took after her in personality as well. He hoped they were right.

"I do wish you had some memories of her yourself, Quatre," Almira added, coming over to sit down on the bed next to Iria. "You must have wondered."

"I still do," he answered honestly.

Iria caught his eyes, looking like she wanted to intervene, but Aleigha beat her to it from her position at the window. "You were born here, did you know that?" she quietly asked.

He turned to look at her, confused by the statement. It wasn't until Iria gave a little gasp though that he figured out something was wrong with that. "What do you mean?" he asked, turning back to her on the bed for an explanation.

The idea of having an artificial womb in a home, even one as potentially well tended as Winner Manor, was unheard of. The requirements had to be exact and constantly monitored. How had they managed that?

Almira looked back and forth between them curiously before Iria relented and turned to her, "Father never told him."

Shock was an understatement for the reaction that crossed the eldest's face.

"What?" Aleigha breathed from somewhere behind him as all three stared at the middle child of the family.

"Tell me what?" he asked, worry etching into him along with the defensive reaction of being left in the dark.

Almira looked up at him, her shock moving to sympathy in her eyes. He felt Aleigha move up behind him, but still no one wanted to answer him. When Aleigha's hand fell lightly on his shoulder, Quatre spun on her, catching her hand.

"Tell me what?" he repeated, unable to cope with the looks and touches of compassion when he didn't know what they were hiding from him. His chest tightened as did the hand he still had on the picture frame. Something was wrong, really wrong.

"Quatre," Aleigha called his attention back, her hand still in his, "father never told you that you were naturally conceived?"

And he stopped and just stared at her.

"Dad told me once that it didn't matter," Iria softly continued. "He said that we were all his children. Apparently he didn't see the point in telling you you're different."

Quatre, stunned and numb, turned to look down at the other two women who looked up at him worriedly. Finally he shook his head at them, not understanding what they were saying.

"You were natural," Almira tried. "Mother gave birth to you here. Father named you after her for a reason."

But he couldn't have been born naturally. That wasn't possible for their family. Even Almira, sitting right in front of him, had had three children through artificial incubation herself. Placida had an appointment at the end of the month to be there when their first child was "born" at the clinic. As far as he knew all of his sisters had tested positive for the reproductive problems that plagued their line.

If their mother had given birth naturally she would have… she would have….

Iria crawled off the side of the bed and walked up to slowly slip her arms around his shoulders and hug him. Aleigha pulled out of his loose grasp and he felt her arm around his back too.

But their touches seemed far removed from him. The cold ache in his chest was the only thing he felt acutely. He didn't even notice when the picture frame slipped out of his fingers.

* * *

The mansion was slowly emptying back out again. Many of them had left yesterday to be back to their families or jobs, some had stayed until today, Sunday, but they were slowly taking their leave of their youngest sibling and heading back to their lives.

Quatre swore he was fine, but they knew he wasn't. He was shaken. More than shaken, Iria just didn't know any other word for it.

Almira had been nearly in tears after he'd left them later to turn in and she realized how badly it had hurt him to find out the truth like that. The two eldest were horrified, but Iria felt responsible. She was aware that Quatre didn't know, and hadn't thought to mention it to her sisters.

Quatre was so much like their father, so very kind and sympathetic to others. She knew that it hurt him badly. She'd tried to explain that to him. The three had tried to tell him how neither of their parents had ever spoken of regretting the pregnancy. He had never been a regret.

But Iria was sure he didn't completely believe them. She supposed that she could understand that. She just wanted to know he'd come to terms with it.

Carrying her bag down the stairs with Nashita and Manul, she realized there probably wasn't anything she could do unless he asked for her help.

"Are you still sure about this?" Quatre asked Manul as the two exchanged a handshake and a pat on the back.

Manul looked a little shell-shocked anyway but glanced over at Nashita, who smiled sweetly at him. "I think so," he seemed to have to convince himself.

The group laughed at him, and Quatre draped an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You'd better be. You have the other side to contend with next."

Manul visibly wilted a little. Nashita pecked a kiss on him for comfort and then moved to hug her bother tightly. "Take care, bro. We'll see you soon. Just not all at once," she winked at him before they turned to leave.

Iria let them head for the door as she slipped in to wrap her brother in a tight hold. Quatre returned it gently as he always did with her, sometimes so afraid he might hurt her. "We love you, Quatre," she told him honestly, knowing he needed to hear it.

His hug tightened a little around her, and she felt him nod. "I love you too. Thank you."

"You call me if you need anything," she stated, giving him a kiss on the cheek and backing away.

He graced her with a smile and nodded.

Picking up the one bag that Manul hadn't taken for her, she gave him a last pat on the shoulder and left as well.

* * *

Quatre sat on the bed again, letting his thoughts run in circles. Scattered around him were various items and trinkets. A couple hand drawn birthday cards, a few progress reports, photos, letters, programs, and a whole list of anything else. Mementos, keepsakes, things he would have never believed that his father kept.

He had boxes in his closet, a sort of oddly categorized memory list of things from each of his children. Each of them except his son. Quatre's collection was in the second drawer of the nightstand. The first drawer held the folder of his marriage certificate, a couple badly written poems, photos, a couple books and a group of better-written poems in a far neater handwriting. His mother's collection.

In his pocket, his phone chirped at him for attention. Slowly pulling it out and opening it, the ID read _Dorothy Catalonia_ and Quatre tossed the items away, back in the box they were going in. "Hello," he answered.

"Feeling all alone in that big empty mansion, Master Winner?"

He raised a smile at her voice and savored it a second. "It's too quiet after all of this, yes," he responded truthfully.

"Well, good. When do I get you back then?"

Taking a deep breath to clear his thoughts, he turned to a few more pleasant concerns. "The end of next week I think, if you'll have me."

"Have I ever denied you?" she chuckled.

* * *

"An older sister is a friend and defender - a listener, conspirator, a counselor and a sharer of delights. And sorrows too." - Pam Brown

AN: For those of you who have not read _Episode Zero_ and know Quatre's background, I promise to give a little more information next time.

Edited by Spiked Jin


	41. Chapter 41

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 41

Dorothy missed her houseplants. It hadn't taken long before she realized that her new kitten had a fondness for destroying anything green. Her ivy, her little herb garden planter, her prized orchid, her strappy pair of emerald sandals, the chair by the fireplace…. She no longer believed that cats were mostly colorblind.

Sighing to herself, she figured that was what she got for buying a cat instead of a man.

However, when he tried to go for the bowl of green sprinkles on the kitchen table, she had expelled him to the back porch. Naturally, a high balcony over a lake was not the most ideal place for a cat, but her little fur ball had quickly gotten used to it and knew he was only put out when he was being punished.

So now it was up to the humans in the room to make a mess with the collection of brightly colored sugars, frostings and sprinkles. And they were doing an excellent job of it.

It was a parish tradition in the little town of Lago Bonito to take cookies to older and especially homebound residents for Easter and a few other holidays. And since Dorothy had a wonderful kitchen that—to her knowledge—had never been used to its full potential, she had offered to house the annual cookie baking.

So, she was literally up to her elbows in flour as she carefully arranged the next sheet with cross-shaped sugar cookie dough as her maid and friend Felicia stamped them out. The two nuns, and the novess Christine, were all busy decorating the finished egg-shaped cookies and laughingly bickering to each other over their choices for colorings and badly sprinkled stripes.

The nuns were typically the ones who chaired this program and baked the cookies, but they were always happy to have help. Dorothy figured she owed them the use of her house considering the three had been her formation sponsors for most of the past year. She would have the honor of rejoining her faith completely next week on the Easter vigil with her Confirmation and First Communion.

It was part of a long list of items on her schedule. She had taken her bar exams on Monday, and she was still very nervous to get the results back. It hadn't gone as well as she would have liked. She had pushed herself to take them before she turned nineteen. Of course, three days beforehand was probably stretching it anyway.

Well, if she flunked she'd take her time with the next testing date.

Her birthday. She hadn't really even thought of it until she looked at her calendar this morning in preparation for this little cooking party. It wasn't exactly noteworthy when no one else remembered.

Not that she felt neglected. Dorothy didn't advertise the date to anyone and certainly didn't intend to draw attention to it. It was just another thing that came and went.

A buzz sounded behind her and Dorothy finished her tray just in time to set it next to its twin on the counter and then grab her sticky excuse for oven mitts and remove the last two chick-shaped cookies sheets from the oven and replace them with the crosses.

"Oh, I'm out of pink," Sister Rita interjected into the lively conversations as Dorothy scrapped the newest batch out onto wax paper to cool before they migrated to the table for decorating.

"That's red," Sister Regina corrected.

"No, that one's red," Christine added, pointing to a third bowl on the table.

The three religious women paused their work and rearranged the colors of sugar in front of them. Dorothy helpfully moved from the center island to the table and scrutinized the colors as well. "Fuchsia?" she shrugged. "I think I have more in the sack on the china hutch behind you," she pointed, figuring she couldn't do anything with her hands covered like this.

"Dorothy, you're skipping your job," Felicia called her back to the new bunny-shaped cuts she was making in their dough.

"Coming, coming!"

The others laughed at her as Christine pulled a little plastic tube of the odd shade of pink sugar from the sack and worked at getting the top to open. "Well now," she mumbled, twisting it around with no success.

Dorothy moved around the table to help, snagging a color-streaked washcloth to wipe her fingers on. "Here, let me—"

That was as far as she got before the snap-on cap of the plastic tube came off in a spray of pink sparkles.

Dorothy squinted her eyes back open as Christine gasped. Meeting the young woman's wide brown eyes, Dorothy quietly looked down at herself only to have sugar dislodge itself from the top of her head at the move and float to the floor. "Oh fantastic, I'm a pixy," she mumbled.

The rest of the room broke out in a loud round of giggles as she tried to shake herself off. Christine set the remainder of the tube down and helped to pat it out of her hair and off her shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over again until Dorothy waved her off with a laugh.

The rest went back to their tasks again as she walked back to the sink and tried to wash her hands off.

Another ring had her hopping over to the oven though as she looked in on the latest batch of… dough?

Felicia laughed for all she was worth before she pointed off towards the front door. "Doorbell, Dorothy."

Well, this wasn't her day.

"I'll get it!" Christine waved her back to the sink and headed off through the living room.

"Thank you," she called after her. It wasn't like she got company out here usually. It was probably just a package or something.

Washing up quickly, she rinsed the cookie sheets off and sprayed them again before moving back to the island. Re-flouring her fingers, she picked up the cheery little bunnies from the counter top and moved them to the trays.

"Um… Dorothy?"

"Yes?" she hummed as she looked up to see Christine pointing back towards the door.

"It's Pete Mathis," she said. "But… I think you need to see this," she smiled.

Now what? Dorothy looked back to the door, but no one had come in yet. She also didn't have a clue who Pete Mathis was, but assumed he must be a local. Shrugging at her friend beside her, she rinsed her hands again quickly, checked that the timer still had a few minutes left and hurried to the door.

She was just in time to watch an older man back through the open door and turn to reveal a huge flower bouquet in a vase. "Miss Dorothy?" the man smiled at her.

"Yes," she curiously looked at him.

"Happy birthday!" he cheerfully announced, holding the flowers out towards her.

It wasn't until she saw the little logo on his polo shirt that she recognized Bonito Floral. "Oh, but…" she hopelessly trailed out as she took the glass vase from him to stare down at what had to be two-dozen roses.

The man chuckled at her, obviously amused with the dumbfounded reaction. "Where would you like the rest?"

Snapping her head up, she blinked at him. "Rest?"

The gentleman politely pulled out an envelope and took the vase back so she could take it from him. Moving the flowers to her front coffee table, he laughed again. "A couple other things," he nodded before heading back out the door.

Dorothy's gaze followed him out before turning to the card in her hands and then to the roses on her table. The vase held two or three roses of every color that the flower came in. Red, yellow, white, pink, purple, peach, orange, several two-tones, and even a couple lilac. What in the world…?

Moving back to the card, she scrutinized the lettering of her name, written out as _Lady Catalonia_. Turning it over she viciously tore into it, peeling the flap back and pulling out a card that read nothing more than _Happy Birthday_ in a gaudy, glittery cover. Opening it, she didn't even bother to read it before she skipped to the bottom and the familiar signature. "_Quatre_," she read in a whisper.

That danged man. She swore he did everything in his power to confuse the devil out of her.

Dorothy looked up in time to watch the florist enter again with two potted orchids, both out in full bloom, one white and pink, one yellow and white. Setting them on the table as well, he un-tucked a box from under his arm and added it too. "There you are, Ma'am. Do enjoy now," he smiled at her. "Sisters," he added back behind her with a tip of his ball cap.

"Thank you," she remembered to mumble as he was closing the door behind him.

"Oh, how pretty!"

She registered Felicia's voice as the young woman walked by her to inspect her new coffee table arrangement.

"Dorothy, you didn't tell us it was your birthday," Christine admonished from her side.

"Do I even have to ask who they're from?" Felicia smiled back to her with a knowing wink. "You're so spoiled!"

That snapped her out of her stupor enough to look back at the card in her hands. _Now, you'll have to let me know if you like getting flowers or not._

And she laughed. Just out loud laughed.

The other women turned from the "ahs" and "oohs" over the flowers and watched her, confused. She was about to try to explain when the oven timer went off again and everyone spun back towards the kitchen and their tasks.

* * *

By the time the group had finished picking on her about her admirer—the way only a teenager and three professed women of God could—and cleaned up the house, it was early evening. The cookies were all on trays, and stacked in the back of their car. Waving a final farewell to the women as they started back to town, Dorothy returned to her living room, ready to collapse onto the sofa for a nap.

Instead her eyes landed on the coffee table that was overflowing with the tall vase of roses and the two smaller pots holding the orchids.

And one fuzzy tuff of a tail that was twitching back and forth as the kitten eyed the new additions from a crouched position on the floor. "Don't even think about it," she walked over to look straight down at him.

If a cat could try to give her an innocent look, this one was doing his best. Just for good measure, he also pretended to ignore the flowers and moved to rub himself against her leg.

"Yeah, you're not that cute," she called his bluff. Sitting down on the sofa she picked him up and placed him in her lap as she looked over the bouquet in the middle. Quatre certainly didn't do anything halfway, did he?

Realizing she had abandoned the card when the cookies called for attention, she picked it back up from the sofa's arm pillow. Gazing at the card again, she just couldn't see him choosing something like that. But it was written in his handwriting, so he had obviously sent this particular card to the floral shop to be included when they brought the flowers to her.

The rat. He must have had this planned for weeks now. The whole pointless question of if she liked flowers last week hadn't been pointless at all.

When did he learn all of her best tactics?

Opening it again, she mindlessly petted her kitten to keep him in place and content as she read past the opening line. _You have to learn to be more specific with me. You told me your favorite flowers were roses and orchids, but not what color. So, rather than disappoint you by being wrong, you got a little of everything they have. Also, it isn't fair to pick a flower that can't be cut and added to an arrangement. Orchids. You always have to be difficult._

Laughing, she nodded and looked down at the pots flanking her vase. "If it wasn't difficult, darling, I wouldn't like it."

Picking his head up, her kitty twitched his ears and looked up at her, probably wondering who she was talking to.

"You included," she said to him and gave him a little scratch under his chin.

Going back to the card, she moved on to the next paragraph. _Secondly, your favorite color is sparkly, but I figured this card was as close to that as I could get._ Flipping just a second back to the cover she nodded her agreement at the glittery lettering. _However, I do think I did better with the last part. The box is from the rest of the family._

Box?

Glancing back at the table she remembered the gold box that Mr. Mathis brought in with him. Looking around the vase she spotted it out of sight behind the mass of roses and greenery. Disturbing her cat, she leaned over and fished it over to her. A tall square, it was wrapped in foil with a bow, tied professionally on the top.

Unwrapping it, she removed the bow's ribbon completely and as soon as she set it aside, it was attacked by four little paws. "Oh, not on the sofa," she chided him and then placed him and his new toy on the floor by her feet.

Turning back, she worked the lid off to find tissue paper lining a stack of trays of dark chocolate caramel squares. With a hum she mentally drooled over them and immediately took back all the mean things she'd thought about her dear Quatre or the Mags.

Casually stealing one, she popped it in her mouth and turned back to the card. _And no, I'm not going to tell you how I knew when your birthday is._ The chocolate was still good enough to forgive the man for his obvious invasion of her public secrets. _I hope you like them, and we'll see you soon. Quatre._

Oh, yes. Master Winner would be at the chateau by about three am tomorrow night. Along with him would be a small group of the guys who were coming to run some security checks for their formal hosting of the Vice Minister. Almost two months to the day was the fundraiser and she was going to have to make her preparations.

Besides, it would be very nice to see them again, and she'd take the excuse to get together. It had been a while.

Really, Quatre had about fallen off the map recently. He had called three or four days in a row for a little commiserating while he was dealing with his family's visit, but that had ended abruptly towards the end of the week. Dorothy assumed he had gotten rather caught up with them. After she was sure they had left again, she had called once just to make sure he had survived. It was the only contact she'd gotten out of him since then.

He was probably too busy planning this. Well, she could fix that.

Putting the lid back on her chocolate, after stealing one more for the road, she snagged an end of the ribbon that her cat was still trying to tangle himself in and trailed it along after her towards the office. Running after it, he pounced on the ribbon, giving a couple little mews when it still ran away from him.

Letting him tackle it to the ground next to her desk, Dorothy called up the vid-line and selected his office number, hoping he hadn't actually taken lunch today.

Getting redirected a couple times she had a quick chat with Emalia, who happily filled her in on most of the gossip around the office before she transferred her. The temporary file clerk must have turned out to be a little more invaluable than first thought, she mused.

"Lady Catalonia. What a surprise," Quatre teased her as soon as his image popped up.

"I don't have a favorite," she stated, leaning back in her office chair.

"Favorite what?" he smiled.

"Color," she returned, trying not to seem to be scrutinizing his appearance. "I've never picked a favorite color in flowers," she shrugged. Quatre looked extremely tired, even over the monitor.

"Well, I guess I managed to do that right then."

She gave him a humble nod in return, "Thank you, Quatre. And please tell the others thank you for the chocolates. I'll do my best to make them last for more than an hour," she teased.

"Of course," he happily added. Well, he seemed all right, probably just overworked again. Tilting his head a little, he gave her an odd look for a second. "Dorothy… are you wearing red sparkles in your hair?"

Comically, she raised her eyes to try to see her own bangs before sighing hopelessly. "Fuchsia, actually." With a little smile she gave him an embarrassed chuckle.

* * *

"Ah, she even waited up for us," Abdul teased as the group tried in vain to be quiet coming into the chateau.

"You boys have a want for stealth," Dorothy grumbled at them. She was standing, leaned against the apartment's double doors in the hallway, waiting for them. Clad in an oversized t-shirt tonight, she wore only a pair of boxer-style shorts underneath, eliciting a few whistles from the group.

Quatre hung back as the others made their greetings, chose their rooms and slowly turned in. Dorothy snagged a hold of Manul specifically and gave him a congratulatory hug for his engagement, teasing him the way everyone else was.

"Dorothy's four" were the first to volunteer to come with him this weekend, hopping at the chance to see their Mistress again. Not that there was ever any shortage of volunteers. Abdul and Rasid filled out the group with him, willing to work on the perimeter security set up.

Rasid stood close to his side in the hallway, watching the men greet their honorary sister before turning in for a nap before morning local time. Although Quatre knew instinctively that he was the one their Captain was watching over.

It had become apparent on the flight here that he wasn't going to be able to sidestep what was wrong with him. The group had picked on him for looking tired, and joked and poked at him to tell them what was wrong.

They weren't really prepared for what they got.

Quatre had the first sense of not belonging among them since he had joined up with these guys. It was nothing any of them did or said, merely his own inability to cope. He had wisely let Rasid fly the shuttle down, so his friend had obviously heard his confession second-hand after they landed. It was the only explanation for the silent concern in him.

It meant the guys were worried about him. Well, it wasn't the first time. Just the first time over something like this.

He really just felt like he had lied to them all these years. Quatre supposed _he_ felt lied to. And part of him wished he could still believe that lie.

How hypocritical.

"Yeah, yeah, good night," Dorothy comically shooed them away, bringing his attention back to her.

For some reason he cringed at the very thought of being next to her right now. As ridiculous as it sounded he just wanted to hole himself up somewhere and lick his wounds. It really wasn't like him, but nothing seemed all that appealing at the moment. Even his… beloved.

Dorothy moved past the others, who were slowing fanning out into guest rooms, and greeted them both warmly. "How do you two put up with these guys?" she shook her head.

"We can only work with what we have," Rasid reasoned to her with a little bow. "Good evening, Lady Dorothy."

"Goodnight, Captain. Your usual room is open if you'd like it."

With a nod he moved away and left the two basically to themselves, apparently giving him space.

"Master Winner," she turned back to regard him. "I do believe I should be gracious and say thank you for your presents."

Allowing himself to chuckle, he set his bags aside as she slipped up to give him a hug. Returning it tightly, he did realize that nothing compared to having her in his arms. "You're welcome," he responded. For a moment he let everything else settle away and just closed his eyes and hugged her.

"You're still a rotten cheat, though," she snipped, pulling away from him without his permission. "How did you know?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

And with a smile he shook his head. "My secret." It wasn't much of a secret. Dorothy's tax information was kept on file for her investment portfolio with Winner Mining. Birth date and ID number were the easiest things to find.

Rolling her eyes at him she brushed it off. "Well, thank you." Leaning in once more she pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed."

"I'm sorry we woke you," he apologized as a quiet little tinkling sound started in the hallway.

"Oh, you woke him first," Dorothy commented as she turned out of his arms. A furry little kitten came trotting down the hall towards them. The thin collar around his neck clanked softly as his short little stubby legs skipped along.

Dorothy dropped to a knee in front of him and the kitten stopped to look up at her as she reached down to scratch his ears.

"Master Winner, may I introduce you to my kitty, Deimos," she flourished.

Quatre squatted down beside her, taken in by the adorable little ball of fuzz. "Deimos?" he balked, throwing her an odd look as she rose to her feet again and he moved a hand to pet the kitten. "You named your cat Deimos?"

He was a gorgeous seal-point Himalayan. His long fur was a creamy beige coloring over his body with patches of seal brown down his tail and feet and covering his tiny little ears and face. Blue eyes, almost as pale as his owner's, looked up at him almost curiously as he sniffed towards the hand he was being petted with.

Dorothy laughed, "Well, I figured if I kept calling him a little 'terror' it was going to hurt his feelings."

Quatre looked up at her confused before he felt the cat shift under his gently petting fingers. He looked down and watched as Deimos—obviously through with him—turned and walked away from his hand, his little tuff of a tail up behind him as he sauntered back to rub against Dorothy's bare ankle instead.

"I see what you mean," he mumbled.

She laughed at him and then reached down to pick up her cat and hugged him to her to scratch under his chin. "Now Deimos, be nice to Quatre," she chided the obviously uninterested cat.

Stepping up to her he couldn't help but notice how cute they were together. But as soon as he got close, Deimos twitched his little ears and turned from his enjoyment of Dorothy's petting to look up at him again. Giving a quiet little mew, Quatre swore that the cat actually narrowed his eyes at him, his tail flipping indignantly.

Surprised, Quatre took a small step back from him and the kitten—satisfied—blinked his way back to snuggling into Dorothy chuckling embrace.

"I'm telling you, he's half evil," she laughed at his crestfallen expression.

"Only you could find the only cat in the Sphere that automatically hates me," Quatre grumbled.

* * *

The guys were in no hurry to get started this morning, which Dorothy didn't mind in the least. She hadn't gotten back to sleep very well last night and couldn't figure out why. She'd finally fallen into a relaxing sleep an hour before her alarm went off.

So she was on her second cup of coffee this morning, and contenting herself with watching the guys toy with her cat. Abdul had confiscated a small foam ball from somewhere and he and a couple of the others were rolling it back and forth, seeing if Deimos could catch it as it whizzed by.

At first the little cat was obviously confused over the purpose of the rolling ball, but when he realized he could pounce on it and it would stop, he took to the game easily.

Of course, it was rather amusing when Abdul realized Deimos was not de-clawed the first time he went to steal the ball back from him. She knew they kept Band-Aids in the corner den for some reason.

"Morning, Lady Dorothy," Manul stepped up beside her to look in on the group.

"Morning it is," she confirmed half-heartedly. Looking up at him she gave him a mischievous look. "I'm surprised your betrothed let you come. I'm not sure I'd be so 'sharing' with my new fiancé," she teased.

With a half-embarrassed smile, he snorted at her. "I just told her I had to go see my Mistress and she told me to have fun."

The insinuation got him a very weak punch in the arm. "That's against your code of conduct, soldier," she chuckled at him.

"Why do you think I volunteered to be here," he mumbled before stopping instantly and throwing her a sideways look. When Dorothy widened her eyes in surprise, Manul quickly backed out of the doorframe and turned down the hall in an embarrassed hurry.

Not being one to ever let something like that drop, Dorothy went after him, breaking a laugh until he stopped and hung his head miserably. "Well now," she purred, circling around to face him even though he was doing anything but looking at her. "Do I need to form a chaperone list for you two?" she teased.

With a sigh he rolled his eyes at her. "The best way to kill a relationship is to announce an engagement around these guys," he shrugged. "I'll be lucky to even see her again before the wedding," he huffed.

Laughing she brushed it off. "Oh trust me, centerpiece shopping is the last thing you want to be there for. You're lucky, she has sisters for that sort of thing."

"Don't I know it," he whispered with a shake of his head. "I've had enough feminine advice to last a lifetime."

"A man can never have too much of that," she corrected. "Helps you grow."

* * *

"It's not my place to judge your father," Rasid's rumble of a voice sounded like it fit the gray, foggy sky over the chateau.

Thunder. For some reason, Quatre wondered why he'd never heard it thunder here. He'd seen it rain a few times, but never with thunder. Odd. Didn't that usually go together?

"No matter what he would have told you, it would have been hard for you," he continued on.

Quatre didn't mean to ignore him. He sat on his bed as Rasid stood at the window they were both staring through. Conversations like this didn't involve face-to-face dialogue. That would have made this too personal. More awkward.

Rasid must have figured from his silence that he wasn't doing any good. His dear friend knew him very well by now. He turned from the window and Quatre looked up at the height of the man over him.

Laying a hand on his shoulder Rasid gave him the smirk that passed for a smile with their seasoned Captain. "You still have the family."

"You can't make that decision, Rasid," he reminded him softly. It wasn't the first time he had been faced with this concern.

He nodded, "Yes, I can." With a final rough pat on the shoulder he turned and left his room, leaving the door open to the central living area beyond.

Quatre sat where he was a moment longer, before finally breaking a small smile at the statement. Rasid was probably right. Even if Commander Sada'ul made it a true issue, he would probably relent if Rasid and enough of the men rose in his defense. But Quatre couldn't see the short, chubby little man even doing that. Not under these circumstances.

The Maguancs had taken on their first natural born.

Natural born….

* * *

This thing had to be a hundred years old. The diagram was worthless. The gardens had obviously been redesigned at least four times since this map of them was drawn.

Dorothy had been kind enough to venture into the seventh-story storage rooms over the central part of the chateau to take shots of the gardens for Quatre to compare with the charts he had gotten from her architecture sheets. And they were impossible to match. The guys were out now just to figure out how to measure off the areas.

Until he had numbers to work with Quatre was just planning the necessary equipment that they would need to try to protect the area during the party. Which wasn't going to be easy.

It was just enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied, and he was relatively thankful for it. Sitting on the steps of the back patio with the data pad, he felt the wind rustle by him and let himself enjoy the environment. Although, he was quickly figuring out that he was too much of a Colonist because the chirp of the birds was beginning to annoy him.

Motion caught his eye as he turned to see Dorothy wandering down the path towards him, her hair being tossed around her. Casting an appraising eye over the planters of bushy green things, she seemed to be making decisions on each one as she passed.

Probably for her new landscaping project that he knew she had been starting on last month. Something about making the gardens a promise. Quatre never figured out any more than that.

Watching her observe her surroundings, he truly believed she belonged here with the plants and trees and rock paths of an expansive garden that seemed to beckon for her touch. It wasn't the first time he had figured out that no matter what he ever managed to mean to her, he would never replace the Earth to her.

And he didn't want to. It would somehow diminish her to confine her to the Colonies or space.

Bending down she picked off a piece of some little plant beside the walkway and then continued on towards him on the patio steps, catching him watching her. With a smile she seemed rather amused with him for it, and Quatre didn't bother to try to cover.

"Peppermint," she opened as she walked up to him. Dropping to the ground she took a seat on the bottom step below him and leaned in to brace herself up against his bent knees, wafting the sprig of little leaves back and forth until he could smell it.

"You grow mint?" he asked, inspecting the plant in her hand.

"Of course. Each section of the gardens has a different flavor of it. Or at least they will soon," she shrugged. "Right now it's mostly just peppermint."

"It's nice," Quatre added.

With a hum she nodded, sniffed the little thing again, and then set it beside them on the patio before pulling the data pad off his lap and doing the same thing. Crossing her arms over his knees, she gave him an expectant look as he blinked at her for removing his work. "What's wrong?"

Blunt as always he figured, taken aback.

Turning away she looked down the side of the building as the breeze rose again for a second. "The others are whispering when you're not around," she reasoned before looking back up at him. "And you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Quatre turned his eyes away from her, wishing he didn't have to tell this to her. He didn't feel ready for her sympathy. The others' worry had been almost tangible when he had confessed to them. He knew that none of them would be able to hide it from Dorothy. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that one of them told her behind his back.

He couldn't blame them. He wasn't exactly known for his ability to deal with things on his own among any of them.

Carefully, Quatre picked up the little piece of mint and twisted in it his fingers for something to do with his hands, and something else to focus on. He'd tried several times to come up with a way to ease into this discussion, knowing that he would at least have to inform the group that his assumptions had been wrong all these years. He'd never come up with one though. "I don't really know how to say this," he quietly confessed.

He didn't want to say it at all. He didn't know exactly how she'd react, or even how he'd react to telling this again.

"The direct method is usually the least painful," Dorothy advised, her tone still unreserved. He wondered if maybe she was getting sick of counseling him through things. Probably.

"The direct method," he repeated, sucking down a deep breath and not looking at her. "Do you remember me telling you about being a test tube baby?"

"Yes," she quietly responded.

"I'm not."

For a long moment neither said anything else, and he continued to turn the little leaves in his fingers. "You mean you thought you were, but you're not?" she asked, obviously confused.

"My sisters slipped while they were home," he answered. "Apparently father never decided to tell me that I… was a mistake." Internally he cringed at his own wording. Mistake didn't even begin to cover it.

Again a heavy silence hung between them for a moment. "But… I thought your mother couldn't have a child naturally. That was the reason your family was conceived artificially. The same abnormality a lot of colonists suffered from."

Slowly he looked up to meet her eyes. Dorothy didn't understand the significance then. The knot in his stomach twisted painfully as he realized that he needed to explain himself. "It is the same abnormality, but that doesn't mean that a woman with it can't have a child," he stated before turning away to the distant wall of the gardens. "Once the placenta forms, any removal of it causes uncontrollable bleeding from the mother. She… bleeds to death."

"And…." Dorothy didn't seem to get any farther than that before she fell silent in front of him.

Quatre's memories shifted back to his sisters. Iria, Aleigha, Almira. They had been so quick to try to comfort him from the repercussions of the harsh truth. But they were the ones that he had immediately felt compassion for. "I killed their mother," he whispered, for the first time being able to say that out loud. "That was the first thought that went through my head when they told me. It wasn't that I killed mine. I'll never know her. But I… I took her away from my sisters, my father," he finally turned back.

He'd shocked her. He was expecting that. Looking down at the leaves of mint in his lap he just waited. Quatre knew—mentally at least—that he was taking the wrong reaction to this. How do you blame an innocent little baby for what happened because of his birth? It wasn't anything he could control or even understand. He hadn't asked to be conceived that way, especially not at her expense.

"You didn't tell any of your sisters that, did you?"

Slowly meeting her eyes again he tried to focus on her words. Dorothy sat where she was, still leaned against his knees, her expression was thoughtful as she seemed to scrutinize him. "No," he answered, feeling completely hollow through the middle and unable to figure out why she asked.

"I didn't think so," she responded, closing her eyes and leaning down farther to rest her chin over her crossed arms on him. "No self-respecting woman alive would let you keep believing that."

For some reason the cool rebuttal actually lit a spark of hope in the pit of his stomach where the ball of lead had been for the last two weeks. Quatre studied her face as she thoughtfully mulled this over. Dorothy hardly ever allowed an initial gut reaction. This didn't seem to be any different.

"I suppose I can understand that you feel somehow responsible." Her eyes slowly opened again to look up at him. "Especially since it's you," she added, her eyes granting him a warm smile. "But I think you're really missing something, Quatre."

He didn't dare turn away from the warmth in those winter-blue eyes. He barely blinked, hoping somehow that she'd do something—say something—to fix this; to just magically make this better. "What?"

With a little smile, she held his gaze. "She loved you."

That wasn't it. "She never even got to hold me," he refuted her. His mother didn't have the chance to love him.

Picking her chin up again Dorothy looked a little stumped with him. "On the contrary, she 'held' you for nine months."

Well, that wasn't the same.

Tilting her head, she gave him a curious look. "You really don't see it, do you?"

Quatre slowly shook his head no, not even understanding what she wanted from him.

"You're focusing on what happened afterwards. You're not putting yourself in her place," she actually admonished him. "You said you were a mistake. Did your sisters actually tell you they believed that?"

Feeling like he was being lectured for something he'd done wrong, he swallowed. "No. I assumed—"

A raised eyebrow stopped him. "You've based your whole life on assumptions, darling. Give yourself more credit than that," she reprimanded him before settling back to teaching. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but it is also rather difficult for a woman to get pregnant with that type of condition, isn't it?"

Pulling through his medical understanding he nodded quietly. "The placenta doesn't form correctly and it's very hard for the baby to attach. It's typical to have first month miscarriages with no adverse health effects on the mother."

Dorothy gave him a faint smile. "You sound like a textbook."

"Thanks," he mumbled, still numbly wondering if she was going somewhere with this.

"You've never thought that she could have wanted you." Her tone wasn't questioning, and her expression was still only softly conversational.

"Wanted me?" he openly gaped at her. "You think she was suicidal?"

That got a reaction from her. "I'm quite familiar with that type of mindset, and having a child is not a suicidal tendency," she immediately refuted him, more than a little bitterness coming through.

Her mother…. "I'm sorry," Quatre rushed, reaching over to place his hands over her arms that were still crossed on his knees.

Dorothy shook her head at him to stop before he went any farther at trying to fumble an apology. "Maybe this is just a gender difference," she continued on. "Is it so hard for you to believe that your mother could have wanted a pregnancy even if she knew she wouldn't live past it?"

Attempting to wrap that around in his mind he stared down at her as she waited for an answer. "Yes," he finally responded. "What purpose would it possibly serve? She had children. _Twenty-nine_ children. What would she gain?"

Dorothy's expression probably mirrored his own, one of complete confusion of what the other was talking about. "You," she returned, completely serious. "She gained you. She gained the ability to carry her child."

"…So?" He didn't get it. Whatever Dorothy found so obvious about the story, he didn't get. Why would any woman be so willing to bear a child that they were never going to see grow up?

With a sigh she paused, apparently at wit's end with him. "How do I possibly explain this?" she whispered to herself, looking away. Coming to something she looked down at his hands, which he hadn't thought to remove from her arms. "Do you remember meeting Felicia, my odd little maid back home?"

"Yes," he nodded, remembering her fondly from the one time he got to meet her.

"Her grandmother will sit in their little family café in town and play checkers all day long with anyone around. And I haven't managed to beat the woman yet," she chuckled at the description. "She told me once—months ago—while her daughter was running back and forth through the café that she used to do that after all nine of her 'brilliant' children."

Dorothy's flamboyant storytelling style was enough to relax him some, bringing up a smile at the image.

"When I said that nine children sounded like a lot, she actually laughed at me. But she went on to tell me where each one was, and who they married, and all sorts of other things I don't remember," she waved it off. "The point of this is that she told me she always loved being pregnant. She swore that she could tell the temperament and a little personality of each one of her children before they were born," Dorothy softened.

Quatre blinked at her, "How?" That didn't seem physically possible.

Shrugging, she shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think I've been around a pregnant woman in my life. The closest I've gotten is listening to the old hens tell war stories about labor that could scare the bloody hell out of a frontline soldier."

Dorothy rolled her eyes and he gave her a quiet chuckle for the comparison.

Shaking her head she seemed to sober again, moving an arm to take the piece of mint out of his hand as he released his hold on her. "Some women are born wanting to be a mother. Others have to be coerced." Finding his eyes she seemed to be looking through him as she thought. "I can't believe that a woman with thirty children wasn't one of the former."

Turning away Quatre tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat again. "You have to remember they were still trying for a boy."

"Were they?" Looking back at her, he paused, seeing the same questioning expression in her. "How much younger than your last sister are you?"

Once again he could only hope that Dorothy had a purpose for all of these questions. "Placida and Panya are about four years older than me."

"Both of them?" she asked.

"Yes. I think all of my sisters were—" he choked on the word 'cooked,' "—incubated as either twins or triplets," he explained.

Slowly she nodded to him. "And that's how you got twenty-nine children in… what, ten years?"

Not knowing all of their specific birthdays, Quatre did a quick calculation for her. "Possibly closer to eleven years," he confirmed.

With a hint of a smile she folded her arms again and dropped her chin back down to look up at him. "So all of them were born at least nine months apart."

"I'm not sure, but I think so," he reasoned. Still not understanding the family history grilling, he finally just stopped and looked at her for an answer in all of this. "Why?"

"Quatre, if the only goal for eleven years was to have a boy, why would they begin by having more than one child at a time? The most efficient way would have been to incubate one child until the gender was discernable, which I'm guessing is something like four months, maybe three in an artificial womb. Instead, they waited for each set to be born before thinking of conceiving again," she listed. "Didn't you think it was odd that they took a break for four years and then just seemed to get lucky with a single birth?" she snickered.

For once he really decided that Dorothy's typical "helpful" nature wasn't helping him. "Honestly, until I was ten or eleven I didn't even know that I had sisters, let alone how old they were," he retorted. Relenting immediately he turned away from her, ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take this out on you," he whispered. "I'm just…."

"Tired and irritable?" she obviously took great pleasure in suggesting.

Quatre managed an un-amused expression but realized that she was doing her best to lighten the mood. "I'm sorry," he apologized again before cringing at himself when she sighed and closed her eyes on him for it.

"Darling, nothing anyone can say will make you feel better. You will more than likely never know. But if all you have are assumptions, then you should at least give some thought to the very real possibility that you were certainly not a mistake," she reasoned, pulling back from him to sit up straight. "She could have been waiting through her whole marriage for a successful pregnancy."

The breeze felt colder with her away from his legs now as it twirled by. But the words brought up more images than he could sort through all at once. "But…." The words disappeared too quickly for him to form a sentence. His mother, his sisters, his father, all with the thought of her death shadowing over them.

His sisters. They had said she was happy. They tried to tell him he wasn't a regret…. He'd just never believed it could be possible. Was it?

Quatre felt his eyes start to tear as he tried to capture pieces of what could have been. Closing them tightly he rubbed at the nagging headache he'd had all morning. But he felt Dorothy shift and opened his eyes again to watch her slowly crawl up the steps to sit on the top one a little behind him. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she snuggled into him and he appreciated the contact.

"I don't understand how it could mean so much to her," he finally whispered.

Dorothy gave him a soft sigh from his shoulder where her chin rested. "You probably can't," she reasoned. "Would you like to know what I think?"

He nodded solemnly and moved a hand to take one of hers draped around him. He didn't care what she said, just as long as she didn't leave.

"I think she knew that your father would be able to raise you, and your sisters, as well as he could. No matter how you were born, having that many children proves that she loved him dearly. She must have thought he made a wonderful father," she lightly chuckled to herself.

He could believe that. Even though his children were spread around in different areas, none of the women had ever told stories of neglect or hardships from him. Quatre had been spoiled to have him at home as much as he did. He'd just never realized it of course. But his sisters had honored their father's memory with nothing but loving and tender words during the week they were together.

"If she did honestly want a real pregnancy, it must have been hard on her to watch all of her girls be born from a machine," Dorothy continued on, seemingly thinking out loud. "She had to have believed that you would be alright under your father's care alone. She had faith in you."

Faith in him. Faith in them both to get along with each other. "I failed them both in that," he quietly returned. Mentally he took a step back and tried to put himself in his father's place for once. "He lost his wife. His children's mother. And he got stuck with me."

Quatre replayed through fights, and arguments, and probably weeks at a time when he avoided the man completely. For a while he never said a word to him that wasn't angry or simply dismissive to him. And as soon as he become old enough to truly be aware of who he was, of what he thought his birth meant, he had thrown it in his father's face every chance he got.

"I couldn't possibly have made it harder on him if I tried," he whispered, the images running rampant through him. It shocked him to know just how badly he had probably crushed his own father's feelings for him. He must have….

Quatre was the very image of his mother. He was named after her, obviously in remembrance. But he had been nothing like her back then. His father had probably been reminded of his lost wife every time he looked at his son.

And Quatre had done nothing to help that.

I'm sorry. Oh father, I'm sorry. You should have told me. I could have been better. I could have done… something. I'm so sorry.

"He must not have wanted you to have to go through this," Dorothy's quiet words broke through to him again. "Or maybe he was still waiting for a better time to tell you."

Quatre squeezed her hand in his as he tried to calm himself again. "Iria said that he told her once that we were all his children and it just didn't matter."

"That's probably true," she nodded against his shoulder. "But he had to have known that you'd eventually find out."

He closed his eyes, feeling the tear in his heart where his father's memories were. "He probably didn't believe I was strong enough to handle it."

"Or he knew you were too kind and it would hurt you badly."

Perhaps Dorothy was right. Perhaps all of his assumptions about his parents he was seeing from the negative side. There were feelings and thoughts that he hadn't re-evaluated about himself and his family in the years since he met the Maguanacs and Instructor H. and left it all in a pile in the corner of his mind. "Maybe."

"Maybe he promised her not to tell you."

He blinked, opening his eyes again. "Why?"

Dorothy settled her cheek to lay against his shoulder, letting the wind flip a couple locks of her hair around them both. "Would a mother ever want to cause her child a hurt like this?" she asked in return. "Whether she was trying for you or not, she carried you." Shifting she nuzzled in to whisper in his ear, "And something tells me you were a terrible kicker."

And despite it all he laughed at her. The idea was at once strange, but also wonderful to him. After so long of dreading the knowledge that he was merely a poured together set of cells created by a person in a lab coat in a sterile room behind glass, the thought of having been honestly conceived was almost heartbreakingly warm.

Maybe he could slowly begin to understand what Dorothy was trying to tell him. Wanted or not, mistake or not, accident or not, he was still here. Alive, well, and grown. His life meant something. Good or bad, he had made a difference already.

His mother had probably wondered what her son would turn out like. "I hope I haven't completely disappointed her," he whispered more to himself than to Dorothy.

"How could she possibly be disappointed in you?"

Somehow he figured that only the Lady Catalonia could find the thought of having a war-torn terrorist for a son to be pleasant. "Aside from being a worthlessly disobedient son? My family has always been pacifists. I doubt that my mother was any different." He couldn't believe that she was, just by the few stories he knew of her. "Becoming a soldier couldn't have been what she expected from me."

Hugging him a little tighter, Dorothy leaned into him more, the wind creating almost a secluded little blanket around them with her hair. "Maybe not. But she would have to be proud of you anyway. You saved more lives than you took."

"I don't know that," he responded. It was an argument he had held with himself since he first began his training with a Gundam cockpit system. And after everything, he still didn't think he could state that as the truth. It was another assumption that he was merely willing to live with.

"You know one," she whispered.

Closing his eyes he melted back into her arms. Dorothy. "I will never take credit for that."

"You should. No other idiot would be spouting pretty words of kindness and compassion while he's half-conscious and bleeding," she snorted.

With a chuckle he shook his head at the description. "Is that all you got out of that?"

"No." She nuzzled against his ear again, getting a mild shiver out of him in the process. "The same bloody idiot told me not to die. And for some reason, I listened to him."

He had made peace with their encounter years ago, but he knew Dorothy was still touchy on the subject. Bowing his head he lifted her hand in his and kissed it. Maybe he could just imagine for a while that he had saved the love of his life. "It would have been a waste."

"Really? Why is that?" Dorothy turned to place her cheek against his shoulder instead, apparently curious. "You've never told me why it seemed so pressing to you that I escape."

With a hum he tried to remember all the things that went through him back then. "I wanted to meet you again. …Without being half-conscious and bleeding," he answered a little teasingly.

"Really?" she sounded doubtful.

"Yes." Tilting his face he laid his cheek against the top of her head. "I recognized parts of myself in you, Dorothy. And I recognized someone who had nothing left and was willing to give up. I've known that too many times myself," he quieted. "I guess I just took you to heart," he finished, believing it.

"You have a strange way of making friends," she dismissed him.

"Yes I do," he admitted. "Whatever the reason, I don't think I can tell you how glad I am that you're still here." No, he couldn't. Without trying to tell her every way and reason that he loved her, he couldn't possibly tell her.

With a hum she moved again to whisper to him. "And I intend to stay right here."

There was something in that. Something in the way she said it, in her hold around him, in the whisper in his ear, her position just over his shoulder. Something… something he could feel.

Her refusal to accept his assessments of his life and family came back to him again. Instead of merely sympathizing with him, she had challenged him. Her first reaction had been to look for the most optimistic explanation. That was an odd switch.

Maybe she had just readily empathized with the woman of the story, becoming immediately convinced of a mother's love. Something he had no real concept of.

Empathizing with her….

Another thought crowded out the rest as a cold fear settled into his chest as his brain ran through a number of distant what if simulations. "Dorothy?" he breathed, shocking himself with the weight of the thoughts.

"Yes?"

"You said this was a gender issue."

"Hm? Oh—understanding that your mother wanted the pregnancy?" she caught on. "Yes, it probably is."

Turning as far as he could Quatre tried to look back at her from the corner of his eye. "Would you?"

There was a pause before Dorothy leaned away enough for them to see each other, rather confused looking. "You mean if I had that condition would I purposefully forego my life to have morning sickness and bloating and the joys of labor pains?" Turning away a little she still paused to think for a second. "I don't think so," she shook her head. "Something tells me your dear mother was far less selfish than I am."

She gave him a resigned smile, but Quatre was thankful for the honest answer. Dorothy was right, of course. There was slim to no chance that she had the same abnormality that was constantly seen through his family line. But he also wasn't completely certain that it would never be an issue if…. Well, Quatre would just say that he knew he would never be able to bear something like that the way his father had.

"I don't think I'd consider that selfish," he chuckled at her.

With a laugh she shrugged. "She had thirty children. I can't compete with that," she brushed it off before snuggling back against his side.

"And you're set on just nine?" he teased.

"Ha!" she faked a laugh for him. "I'll see if I get to the first one."

She was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. How did she do this?

Softly she nuzzled his jaw line again getting a smile out of him once more. "Will you be all right?" she whispered.

Swallowing he nodded, knowing it was going to take some time to assimilate everything she'd just brought up in him. "Eventually," he answered.

She hummed with a nod and hugged him tightly for a minute.

* * *

"What are they doing?"

"Just sitting there."

"Now they're talking some more."

"Does he look happy or sad?"

"Heck if I know!"

"She's hugging him again."

"Man, I need to have breakdown of some sort."

"You can tell her your thick head won't fit in your fez anymore."

"I can send you to the hospital and see if she visits."

There was a low rumble of a throat being cleared in the background and the group froze instantly. Turning slowly the men sheepishly looked up at their Captain standing over them. "Is she getting anywhere?"

The group broke into laughs and returned to their posts, giving him the progress reports.

* * *

"Men's minds are raised to the level of the women with whom they associate." – Alexandre Dumas

Edited by Spiked Jin


	42. Chapter 42

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 42

It was late by the time Quatre woke the next morning. It had taken him a long time to let his thoughts quiet down last night and get to sleep, but for once it had been uninterrupted and peaceful. Feeling better than he had in days, he rose quickly once he figured out what time it was. The guys were going to give him crap for sleeping in.

He emerged from his room in time to find Deimos trotting into the apartment. "Deimos, here kitty," he called, dropping to a knee on the floor and holding out his hands, deciding to try again at befriending the little cat.

The kitten stopped and looked back at him for a second before slowly walking towards him.

"Here kitty, kitty," he called softly, coaxing him forward. Deimos walked right up to him, obviously expecting to be petted, so Quatre obliged him. Softly he stroked the little cat behind his ears. "See, I'm not so bad," he smiled down at the adorable fur-ball.

However, the words must have jogged the cat's memory because he sniffed at him a second before he turned and walked away from him again in mid-pet. Sauntering away he slipped into the slightly opened door to Dorothy's room with a quiet little mew, as though searching for her.

"I know when I've been beaten," Quatre remarked, even if he was competing with a cat.

Cutting his losses, he left the apartment and headed downstairs to find the others. The house was quiet and he managed to catch a glimpse of a red fez out amid the bushes of the garden. They were already out and beginning to setup from the sheets he finished last night. Well, they seemed to be in a hurry for some reason.

He paused with his hand on one of the patio doors as something else caught his attention. For a second he listened and then closed his eyes with a smile before turning away to follow the sound. Heading back through the solitude of the hallway he slipped up to the first doorway to the music room where the notes of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" were being picked out at about double pace.

Biting back his chuckle, Quatre stepped up to the doorway. A music book sat on the stand of the piano, hiding everything but her shoulder and the sway of her hair from his line of sight. Slipping silently into the room as she switched to playing it with both hands in harmony, he crept forward, staying out of her sight and listened to her play.

So, she had done this as a child too. He could understand now how she had managed to creep in unseen and end up underneath that massive instrument without her mother knowing. It was a wonderfully cute image.

Dorothy finished and stopped, flipping a page in the book and he chose the intermission to make his appearance. "You haven't been practicing."

Stepping closer she looked up at him, obviously ready to protest, but then closed her mouth again. Giving him a weary look she sighed, "How can you tell?"

"A good instructor always knows," he informed her, but couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

And Dorothy obviously saw it, returning a little chuckle of her own for it. "Sleep well, Master Winner?" she asked instead as she turned back to the book.

"Better, thank you," he answered rounding to her side. "_Piano for the Hearing Impaired_," he read from the chapter 2 heading she was stopped on.

"This is quite a good-humored little book. It was on sale," she informed him.

"Well, I guess I've been replaced," he mumbled.

"Never, dearest." Without bothering to look she patted the bench beside her and then started very shakily on "We Three Kings."

Not taking the invitation so he didn't disrupt her concentration, he watched her hands on the keyboard as she hesitantly pressed the keys. She wasn't familiar enough with them yet, so her eyes bobbed constantly between the book and her hands, disjointing the tempo of the piece. It was normal, and that would become easier with a little practice.

Stepping up just behind her he leaned down and stopped her play with a hand over hers. "Keep going," he whispered to her.

Focusing back on her music, she uneasily picked up where she'd left off as he very lightly played the notes over her fingers, keeping her more in rhythm by guiding her right hand. Missing one of the ending notes, he nudged her ring finger over a key and made her play it again. With a laugh at herself she obliged him and finished again. "I don't believe I inherited any talent," she mumbled.

"Anything worth learning is awkward at first," he reassured her, dropping to a knee behind her and the bench. "Don't give up so easily."

Turning over her shoulder to look down at him, she moved her hand under his and entwined their fingers before giving him that look of hers. "And you, my dear, who did you inherit your skills from?"

Quatre gave her a smile for the cool little flattery. "I don't know," he admitted, thinking about it a second. "I don't know if either played." That was going to take a little getting used to, to think of both of his parents.

"What is it?" Dorothy asked, turning enough to drop both of their hands into her lap.

"I'm not used to thinking about my mother," he answered honestly. "All this time, it's never… occurred to me," he tried to explain before sighed at the stupid wording. "Never mind."

Giggling, she nodded, "I think I understand." She turned quietly back to her music book, "It's a good time to start, Quatre."

Dorothy would know. Under his hand he could feel the ring she wore, the token of what she had left of her mother. "I think you're right."

"I'm always right," she confirmed, flipping the page back.

With a smile he nodded to himself, figuring his window of warm concern was over again. "Except when it comes to this," he returned just as tartly, releasing her hand. "If you put this much energy into practicing you'd have "Frerajaca" down by now."

"Don't get snippy with me, young man. I'll send you back to bed," she answered.

"Really?" Rising again he turned away from her towards the patio doors behind them. "I didn't realize you were _that_ much older than me," he teased.

There was an indignant snort just before he was whacked, with what he assumed to be a music book, squarely on the rear end.

* * *

"Do I have to close off the green?" Dorothy asked again.

"Yes," he abbreviated this time. "It's impossible to monitor it if we leave those paths open."

She huffed beside him and starting tapping her nails in rapid succession on the window ledge she was leaning against. Not being able to take that sound, Quatre finished his diagram and moved a hand to press hers down flat against the wood, keeping it from tapping.

Seemingly failing to notice, she frowned out towards the small crew of landscapers who were currently busy in the gardens. The sun still hadn't burnt off all of the fog that surrounded the lake beyond the "green" or lawn, but it was moderately warm and dry enough to work with the electronic equipment.

"You know it's going to rain anyway," Dorothy finally shook her head. "If I go through the work, it'll rain."

"You're a pessimist," he mumbled back down at the diagram.

"Why change now?" she shrugged. "Fine, I'll close off the outer paths. But I'm keeping the gazebo, we won't be able to keep people out of it anyway."

"I think we can do that," he took his hand back to make an adjustment to the drawing. "We'll have to set it on its own system."

"Will the fountain disrupt the motion sensors?"

Quatre blinked and then looked over to her. "Fountain?" Looking back at the sheet, he was sure he hadn't missed anything that said fountain. "What fountain?"

Dorothy looked at him oddly and then leaned into his shoulder to look down at the diagram. "This fountain," she pointed to a plain circle drawn on the aerial view just in front of the gazebo that was set at the back of the garden wall.

"That's a fountain?"

"What did you think it was?"

Turning to be nose-to-nose with her he shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it was a flower planter like all the rest of these things," he waved the diagram in front of them for emphasis. Giving her a bitter look, she returned an endearing smile as she tried not to laugh at him for the honest mistake.

Click. "Ah, how cute." They both turned to find Abdul looking through the opened window, toying with his phone in his hand. "Either of you two going to come out and join us?" he asked.

"Of course we are," Dorothy leaned down towards the window. "When we're ready." Reaching over she pushed the sliding window down, closing it in his face and turned back to the diagram.

Quatre couldn't keep the thing steady enough for her to read while he was laughing.

* * *

The "gazebo" looked more like some tropical island apartment than anything that should belong in someone's garden. Only the central section was actually laid out on the worthless diagram. But the sides extended out to form patios and lounge areas that overlooked the other directions of the expansive grounds.

The central point was round, lined with benches, and open to look up to the building through the rose gardens, or out the other way across the lawn to the lake. And in front of it, true to her words, was a fountain.

A fifteen-foot, four-tiered fountain with a water basin surrounding it was being filled by the jugs of five naked, chubby, little children carved around the edges.

"You don't like it, do you?" Dorothy asked as he gaped up at the mammoth rock… thing.

"That's… obscene," he muttered at her before he realized he'd said it out loud. Lack of sleep tended to do that to him.

"Obscene? Tacky I'll give you. But obscene?"

Quatre turned to look behind him at her oddly as she carefully scrutinized the carved tiers. "Aren't there laws against things like this?" he motioned towards the poor little innocent that was depicted playing with the water.

"Against tacky fountains?" she raised an eyebrow at him, obviously missing the point.

Looking at her like she'd lost her senses, he motioned again to the little rock boy. "Against depictions of naked children."

Dorothy gave him a dumbfounded expression for a second before looking carefully down at the little carved image and back to him. "It's a Cherub."

"What's a cherub?"

Walking up beside him she motioned down to the same little boy. "That. It's a chunky, little angel."

"Why would an angel be naked?" he asked. He was well aware that they had more than a few religious differences, but this just seemed off.

"I don't know," she shrugged, laughing at him. "They're just depicted as chubby little naked kids. The whole thing is an angelic theme."

Quatre slowly followed the tiers upward, finding various carvings of angels with wings and harps or flutes on each level before the top looked more like a crown than anything else. But he still failed to see the reasoning behind it.

"It's actually rather pretty with the water and lights on," she reasoned. "But it's just huge." He turned back to her, still struck that she wasn't getting his point. Noticing the look she turned back to the… whatever it was, and then looked at him rather confused. "I didn't think I would ever accuse _you_ of having a one track mind."

Balking at her he gestured down at the little thing in front of them. "How does this not give you a one track mind?"

Dorothy blinked comically at him and shook her head. "Just because they're not wearing diapers? Sweetheart, you're in Europe."

"What does that have to do with this?" Was child pornography legal here? That was just wrong.

Standing in front of him she actually seemed to be checking to make sure he was serious. With a shake of her head she waved towards the thing. "Is this the first nude portrayal you've been around?"

Dorothy had lost her mind. What kind of question was that?

With an oddly amused nod to herself she started off towards the back pathway down the left side that led around the garden wall. "I do suppose I should give you a proper tour," she stated as she walked away from him.

Having no choice but to follow, Quatre placed the data pad on the edge of the water basin and went after her. Slowly she walked them along the main path at the back of the boundary. The gardens were diamond shaped with the gazebo in the point at the back and the two sides extending towards the house. The last tip of the diamond was cut off blunt as it connected with the observation lounges at each wing.

The place was large, but low grown. A few trees clustered here and there, but most were shorter, flowering types, which were having their blossoms blown around in the spring air.

Dorothy helpfully tried to teach him a few of the flower types and names as they moved along, always ignoring the smaller paths that lead through patches and planters to the inner areas. Instead she kept them following the outer wall until they reached the side corner in the design. Stepping down a slope in the landscape she halted in front of a small pool.

Stones were laid around the edges and a carved sculpture stood over the already filled hole surrounded in an alcove of bushes with a small purple flowering tree behind it.

"This is the Poseidon pool," Dorothy introduced him.

"I thought you were Catholic," he teased, getting her to laugh at him. Looking down at the probably four-foot statue, a man with a long, curly beard stood flanked by two winged horses that were probably supposed to be viewed as rising from the water below. Broad and muscular, the mythical figure had only a conveniently placed spray of water covering his privates as he stood with one arm stretched out over the pool as though commanding it to be calm.

"Our ancient ancestors have left us a fun lineage," she advised. "And one that sometimes includes a lack clothing."

Quatre curiously looked back at her a little uncertain if he really wanted to question this any farther. "So… it's normal to have nude people in gardens?"

With a chuckle she turned and continued back to the pathway. "Of course not. That's just a piece of marble, dear."

"Which is different than a real person," he clarified.

"Of course it is."

"Just checking," he mumbled, trailing along after her.

With a laugh she brushed it off as she took a smaller path that angled in towards the inner areas. "This is another one of those fun cultural differences for you."

"How's that?" he wondered, taken off guard by the whole thing.

"I find this terribly normal," she shrugged.

Great. Quatre knew his love's moral scruples were a bit skewed. He'd known that since Sanq, Dorothy was never known to be soft-spoken about her beliefs, after all. But this just seemed extremely weird. "You don't find anything disturbing, do you?"

"I find lots of art disturbing. Cubism for example," she flourished. "Actually, most abstract. I just can't find any talent in splatters and streaks and magazine clippings."

"No imagination."

She snorted at him for the good-natured insult and led them to a larger path and back towards the way they had come, entering a field of tulips. "This is the bulb area's pride and joy," she went on, circling them around a row of white blooming hedge bushes to a round courtyard type area that he knew from the maps was the center of this half of the gardens.

Standing in the middle however was another fountain. The water basin surrounding it was plain but circled by freshly placed plants, the dirt between them loose and dark. This fountain was already running, a jet propelled water up to cascade down in a circle of fine raindrops over the central statue.

"The 'Three Graces,'" she supplied.

Quatre's chivalry was almost enough to make him close his eyes and turn around if he hadn't been shocked to a standstill. The Graces were three young women depicted as chasing each other playfully in a circle… stark naked.

They each had a hold of a single piece of carved material that they seemed to be playing with. The folds of the fabric did a convenient job of attempting to cover their… lower unmentionables. But it did nothing to shelter the amply depicted curves of the women. They stood exposed in a life-sized, detailed, three-dimensional display for any and all to see.

"Aglaea, Euphrosyne and Thalia," Dorothy when on, stepping up to the edge of the planter in front of them.

"You named them?" he incredulously asked, staring.

"They were named in mythology. Beauty, joy and charm. Or something like that," she shrugged. "This was made as a replica, I think. Don't ask me where the original is though."

As if he cared. Swallowing uncomfortably, he averted his eyes to take in the rest of the area for something else to look at.

"They are usually associated with Spring, so they get to be here with the bulbs and the—Quatre?"

He turned back from embarrassedly scrutinizing a cluster of tulips at the edge of the pathway instead of paying attention to her. Dorothy gave him a befuddled expression before slowly starting to snicker and then breaking out laughing at him.

He hopelessly sighed and turned away again, knowing he was blushing just from the tone of her laugh. Silently he prayed that the rest of the guys weren't within the sound of her voice or this was going to turn ugly fast.

"What is with you?" she accused. "You're not thirteen, get over here."

Quatre wouldn't have cared if he were thirty. The image of Dorothy standing in front of something like this was not a mental image he needed in his head. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Sweetheart, you're blushing like you caught someone in the shower. They're just stone. They aren't going to scream and run away," she coached, walking back to him, thoroughly amused. "Don't be such a prude. It's just art." Taking his hand in both of hers she tugged him after her like a big sister with an unwilling toddler.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a fan," he fumbled for something to retaliate with.

"Why not? They're tasteful," she added, pulling them to a stop in front of the statue and looking at it again. But she didn't release his hand, probably figuring he'd pick a direction and just leave… which he might have.

Clearing his throat he looked back at the fountain and comically attempted to figure out Dorothy's appeal for it. "You don't find this… objectifying?" he asked. Staring at the statue now, he avoided looking back at her at his side. One or the other, not both.

"Objectifying," she repeated curiously. "How do you mean? That I would find it offensive as a woman, or that the art is symbolizing an ideal? Because personally, I find they're a little pudgy," she snidely commented.

_No comparisons!_ Mentally he wasn't having a lot of luck trying not to place Dorothy next to them as a fourth. And no matter if this was her fault or not, he was sure that she wouldn't appreciate that. "Um… the former," he tried.

"No. I'm not threatened by something like this at all," she answered easily. "It's not crude or vulgar. It's pretty," she shrugged.

Slowly turning to look at her he found her quietly contemplating the thing. "And what would you consider vulgar?"

Turning, she blinked at him and then back at the fountain. "Vulgarity is based on suggestiveness," she decided. "There's nothing suggestive about this."

"There isn't?" he balked before he could stop himself.

Dorothy turned to look at him, but Quatre beat her to it as he turned away once more to the thing in front of them to avoid her eyes. "No. They aren't the least bit come-hither-ish, they're just… frolicking," she giggled at her own description.

"Is frolicking a common pastime for women around here?" he asked in utter abandon.

"No!" she grumbled in exasperation. "Well, unless we go to the beach. But you're not ready for that," she added quietly. Shaking her head she moved one hand to pat his. "But no. They're just fighting over the towel, or something."

Quatre didn't understand what she meant and he didn't want to. "And in order to be suggestive they'd need to—what, have a smaller towel?" he accused.

He regretted it immediately. Dorothy dropped his hand and turned to face him. "You really don't find any difference between nudity and eroticism, do you?"

Turning away before he choked on his own tongue, he started away towards the central path. "I know that I'm no longer having this conversation," he said instead.

He didn't get far before her arms came around his waist and tugged him to a stop as she snuggled against his back. The contact got him to twitch and ball his hands as his sides. "Quatre," she cooed towards his ear in that voice of hers that was going to do anything but help this situation. "Answer the question."

This wasn't fair. What had he done wrong today to get trapped like this? He knew there was no right answer to that. What was it with this woman? For every day that she was actually helpful and nice to him, he had to pay for it the next.

There was another mischievous little giggle from her and her arms tightened around him. "Come on," she cajoled. "You have to be able to reason the difference."

Nudity, eroticism, suggestiveness, none of these were terms he typically fascinated himself with. Sometimes he would admit that Dorothy got alluring or attractive or… alright, maybe once or twice "suggestive" had popped up…. Crud. "That's not the issue," he shook the thoughts away forcefully.

"Then what is the issue?"

"Intimacy," he stated, finally coming up with a good rebuttal.

For a second he thought he'd actually stumped her. "But they're sisters. They're obviously used to… frolicking."

With a disheartened sigh he hung his head, "Yes, but they're not _my_ sisters. Not that I ever want to see any of my sisters nude either," he hastily added.

"So… you find it too intimate to see them naked if you don't know them?"

"Yes," he half-cheered, picking his head back up. "No," he corrected quickly. "What do you mean 'if I don't know them?' Knowing them would only make it worse."

"…Why?"

"Are you serious?" Quatre finally stopped to ask.

Slowly releasing him she stepped around to face him again, thoughtfully gazing back at the statue. "Well, I suppose I can see the idea that it would be too personal with someone living," she conceded. "I guess that's the difference between art and life. I don't, however, hold the same opinion that nudity and sexuality are the same thing. But why would it make any difference if you knew them or not?"

She wasn't kidding, and he knew that she was curious enough that she wouldn't let it drop either. Taking a breath to try and get the extra images out of his head, he mulled it over. "I'm going to go back to the 'no imagination' thing," he began. "Could you really see someone you knew without their clothes, and still have no problem seeing them again later, fully dressed, without remembering them that way?"

"What am I going to do, point and laugh?" she shrugged. "Just because I may be able to remember someone naked doesn't mean I'm going to back him against a wall and get him that way again."

Quatre openly stared at her a moment. "You really have a problem with being blunt."

Dorothy looked like she'd refute it but stopped and nodded approvingly. "Yes, I do," she admitted. "The point is I wouldn't find it sexual."

"Not even if it was someone you knew?" he clarified.

"No," she shook her head. "Unless of course they were being suggestive. Then I'd classify them as a pervert." Thinking for a second she nodded to herself, "And then I'd probably point and laugh."

Quatre watched her, wondering if they could possibly be talking about the same thing. "Wouldn't taking their clothes off in front of you be considered suggestive?"

"Well, if it was pointedly for me," she nodded absently.

Slowly taking a look around to make sure they were secluded and alone, he took a small step closer to her. "Is there a reason you're around people who randomly take off their clothes in front of you for some other purpose?"

She gave him a laugh for his obvious confusion. "Well, maybe not me personally. But like your sister, Iria. She's a doctor, she sees parts and pieces of people everyday, right?" Dorothy countered.

"That's not the same."

"Of course it's not," she cheered. "Now you're getting the idea."

Turning to face the fountain again he waved towards it. "But they're not coming to me as a doctor," he emphasized.

"They're not real," she threw up a hand at them as well. "You switched topics," she sighed.

"How did I do that?" he blinked.

"By bringing in intimacy," she huffed. "You can't be intimate with a rock. Or if you can, you have more problems than I can help you with."

Quatre moved to rub his eyes, now beginning to draw some light onto this. "We're simultaneously talking about two different things."

"Yes," she confirmed.

"How did I get into this?" he muttered. "Fine." Calmly he stood and studied the fountain, attempting to remember it was simply a decoration. "I still think this counts as—at the least—uncouth."

"Why?"

"The theme may not be suggestive, but the subject is still nudity," he tried very hard to sound text-bookish about this. "And I still think that lends itself to… imagination."

"You're still thinking of nudity as erotic," she preached.

Was she expecting less? "And I'm not a doctor, so I probably always will," he confirmed.

"Alright," she waved it off. "I think I've finally figured out your fetish with your collar button," she chuckled.

"You know, you really don't fit this either," he countered. "You're usually conservative yourself." Usually….

"Ah, part of the imagination thing," she winked with a nod. "The allure."

"Exactly!" he happily confirmed.

"Except now you're talking about reality again."

She was right; this was difficult to keep separated. "Alright, so if this doesn't equate suggestiveness, what is the purpose?" he gave up.

"Art is form, not function. The purpose is to show beauty," she reasoned, walking slowly back towards it. "The human body is both art and function. It's not supposed to be vulgar. These three are perfect for that. They don't find anything sexual about each other; they don't care. They are innocent of any desire, or hormone, or whatever else." Turning, she looked back over her shoulder at him, "That's only in what you bring with you."

The chastisement only made him feel worse about all of this. "So, I'm really just a pervert," he mumbled, for some reason ashamed of himself.

With a happy chuckle Dorothy came back to him. Not looking at her while he sorted through this he let her circle her arms around his neck. "No, you're adorable," she refuted, getting him to throw her an annoyed look for that term again. But with a smile she shook it off, "Like I said it's a cultural difference. You're just conditioned differently."

"According to you, that's no excuse though." Watching her, he carefully slipped his arms around her waist, trying not to disturb the images that had been floating through his mind with all this.

"Most of the time you're right," she reasoned. "There isn't much true art anymore. It all gets lumped together more often then not." Turning over her shoulder she watched the water spray over the three happy stone women. "You just have to learn there is a difference."

"In art," he clarified.

"Technically," Dorothy nodded and then slipped away to start down towards the central pathway. "Reality, unfortunately, makes things messy. It's all context."

Disappointedly he trailed after her, wishing vainly that she'd stay put sometimes. "I know I'm going to regret this, but 'context?'"

Stopping she turned back to him, "That would really bother you, wouldn't it?"

"Well, you're right," he shrugged it off. "There's a difference between locker rooms and doctor's offices than… somewhere else," he swallowed.

"Like a bedroom," she suggested, moving on again.

For a second he let her lead, just wondering if she wasn't leading this conversation a little too well. "That would kind of be a given, wouldn't it?"

"More than likely," she nodded, pausing to pick off a wilted stock from a plant at the side of the path.

Quatre really had to learn to stop humoring this side of her. It never failed to get him in trouble. "So… um, security system?" he asked moving back towards the end gazebo.

With a laugh she slowly trailed along after him. "Yes, yes. I should let you work. By the way, I've taken the liberty of arranging an appointment for us this afternoon. Timing's flexible though."

"Appointment for what?" he paused.

"Your fitting," she smiled, twirling the stock of leaves in her hand as she brushed by him. "We have to match." With a wink she trailed the little branch under his chin as she passed by. Humming to herself she sauntered away, pausing here and there to look after the plants.

Quatre quietly followed her, beginning to determine that suggestive allure actually became far more potent packaged in modest black slacks and a mint top….

Sometimes he really thought she did this to him on purpose.

* * *

"Was there an exact point when you decided I couldn't dress myself, or is this just a general observation," he dejectedly asked.

"Quatre, you know I only do what's best for you," Dorothy lectured. "You told me last time that you didn't like the way your tuxedo made you look, and I agreed. So, my gift is to make sure you start acting your status," she explained, browsing disinterestedly through the dress selections.

"What does that mean?" he half-grumbled at her.

The argument had been raging since they had arrived at Stephan's shop. Her odd little designer had been squishing her into costumes and gowns since she had first taken Davonte's arm for an art showing. She had never needed to find anyone else to handle her formal dress code since. "Darling, the off-the-rack tux never looks right. And someone of your position shouldn't end up looking like the ring-bearer."

"The what?"

"Never mind," she chuckled. Apparently he hadn't been to enough Christian weddings to recognize the insult. "Honestly, sometimes I think you're afraid to let anyone know that you're rich."

"You're actually telling me I don't flaunt it enough?" he asked, momentarily taken aback.

Pulling a gown off the rack she held it up before giving it a distasteful frown and putting it back. Did Stephan actually find people willing to wear these things? "I would fall over in tears if you of all people actually 'flaunted' anything," she laughed at him. "But you're forgetting yourself again."

"Forgetting what?" he sighed, moping after her.

"Your very name gives you away," she reasoned. "You're a Winner. One of the Colonies' all powerful elites—don't roll your eyes at me," she caught him in mid-motion. "Your position is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," he rebuked her.

"Then don't dull yourself down," Dorothy continued, flittering on to the wall racks. "You're the most humble man I have ever known. You will never have to worry about anyone thinking you're some arrogant, spoiled aristocrat." Turning over her shoulder she winked at him, "That's my stereotype."

"And you're good at it," he quietly muttered.

Laughing she shook her head at him. "Darling, I don't care what you're comfortable in." Slipping back to him she tugged at the diamond-patterned vest he wore over his dress shirt and snuggled up to whisper in his ear. "I tend to like this," she purred, loving the way he involuntarily swallowed. "But you should enjoy your status. It's already expected, so you're not going to offend anyone." Releasing him, she brushed away.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he called after her.

"Then for one night, dearest," she turned to meet his eyes, "you're going to have to resign yourself to my mercy."

For some reason he didn't seem to take that as a threat. "Alright," he shrugged at her.

This man was far too easy. He was ruining all her fun. "You will be acting on your name and representing the Colonies themselves, along with being my escort." Turning towards the opening door of the back rooms she started away, trying to bite back her smile. "Do try to act the part."

"And he is?" Stephan began, throwing an appraising look in Quatre's direction as she made her way to her designer's side.

"Quatre Raberba Winner," she made his announcement in typical flourish. "My escort."

"And who dresses you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the shirt and vest.

"Be nice to him, Stephan," she quietly chided towards the short, skinny man. "He just needs a touchup for the evening."

The other gave her sniff as her poor Quatre stood in front of them with a displaced smile at the exchange.

He wasn't going to like her for this.

* * *

"The point is that Stephan found something that suits you better."

The strange shop owner was only too pleased to come in on a Sunday and spend two hours picking out a specific look for him. Quatre was still a little shell-shocked from having the man strip him down to his underwear, take every conceivable measurement possible, and some he was sure the man couldn't possibly need—twice, and then slowly reassemble him, going through probably a thousand different options.

By the time he had decided on the pants, the man had nipped and tucked in areas that no man had any business being in as far as Quatre was concerned. But after the initial feeling of being violated had passed, Dorothy's usual designer had explained vest and jacket cuts, what to try, what to definitely avoid, and tricks for how to cheat. He knew his art. The man had taken in his height, weight, shoulder width, torso length, neck size, the typical way he stood, and probably something like a chart of lunar tide effects and his horoscope to come up with a singular ensemble for him.

The fashion guru had charted every intimate corner of him for future reference and finally processed him to the store front for final, feminine, approval. And for all the work, Dorothy had given him a five second appraisal and cattily surmised that a lesser woman would find him over-dressed.

He was assuming that meant she liked it.

"He didn't feel you up too badly, did he? I told him to go easy on your first time," she evilly giggled at him.

"I'm not sure whether to send him a thank you note or flowers," he muttered, getting Dorothy to crack up laughing. "That wasn't nice," he chided himself.

She waved it off happily. "Don't worry. Davonte still says he doesn't get a bill. He just leaves the cash on the side table and shows himself out."

Quatre wasn't sure whether to laugh or worry about that insinuation. Settling on laughing it off he blocked the whole experience from his mind.

"I don't know why you're taking offense to this. I was only being helpful. Stephan has to make at least your vest anyway," she reasoned.

"I'm just bitter," he admitted honestly.

"For what?"

It wasn't the tux, it was the general way she always seemed to need to fix him. It annoyed him more than anything. She could be so close, so very within his grasp, and then treat him like a child she was trying vainly to instruct more than care about. Turning from the slowly dimming gardens to look at her he found her curiously waiting for an answer. "You tend to get mothering sometimes," he admitted.

Dorothy blinked at him oddly. "Mothering? You mean nagging? I do not," she retorted.

"I didn't say nagging," he shook his head. "Although you can be good at that too," he teased. Turning around he leaned back against the railing next to her as she sat on top of it, wondering if it was a mistake to point this out. "You really treat me like you don't expect me to be capable on my own." Tucking his hands in his pockets he idly looked up at the towers of the chateau above them as she lounged on the central terrace. "More times than not you're right. It's not the advice, it's the attitude," he admitted.

"Darling, I find you perfectly capable. I wouldn't waste my time with someone hopeless."

Quatre actually knew that somehow she expected that to make him feel better. Blunt and cynical, she honestly didn't realize how her words sounded to others sometimes. It took a little getting used to, but he was beginning to be able to pick the compliments out of her callous speech. "Thank you."

"I'm just a controlling personality, sweetheart. You know that. I have to make myself feel needed somehow."

It was said mainly in jest, but he had come to understand that piece of her. The need to feel needed. For Dorothy it was more than a nice thought, it was the way she understood herself. Turning his eyes back to her he caught her gazing silently out into the gardens again, her hands both behind her on the wide railing to prop herself up. "I do need you," he ventured, a little intimidated to say it.

"I do mother you, don't I?" she quietly asked, obviously a bit befuddled with the idea and not really paying attention to his confession. "I really don't mean to, I suppose I'm just used to it," she shrugged a little to herself.

The motion caught his eye. With her arms back, the material of her shirt stretched around her and tugged at the buttons. Tracing the lines of the shirt up her chest his eyes followed the open slack of her collar and then down the line of her shoulder and arm until a stray whisper of the breeze toyed with the ends of her hair that hung over the side of the marble railing.

There was something in the orangey-red glow of the coming sunset that intensified the green of the gardens around her, and even the mint of her shirt. It was a drowsy little haze that nestled over them. Or maybe it was simply his own weariness taking hold.

"I don't mean to be condescending, Quatre," she broke quietly into his thoughts as he realized his eyes had stopped again on her buttons, in what would be considered a rather impolite stare if he were caught. Blinking forcefully he regarded her face instead as she looked out away from him.

She didn't seem to be going any further with that and he wondered if he'd hurt her feelings. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate it," he called her attention back to look at him. With an embarrassed smile he dropped his eyes from hers. "I just don't want you to think you always have to… train me," he tried for the right word and still missed what he was trying to say.

"Oh, don't take offense to it," she purred at him. Moving her legs she sat up and hopped along the railing to cuddle up against his side as he leaned against it. Hugging his arm with both of hers she laid her cheek on his shoulder. "I have a nasty habit of taking too much vested interest in certain people, and unfortunately," she moved her face to whisper in his ear, "you're it."

"It's not your interest that I mind," he smiled.

"Then what it is?"

"I just wish you didn't think of me like a student," he admitted.

"I don't," she refuted. "But there are a number of things I have dealt with far longer than you have, and I probably do get a bit… overbearing," she trailed to a mumble. "That doesn't mean I think you're childish. I did the same thing with Grandfather. The man didn't pick out anything himself but his uniform for years."

The image of Dorothy running Duke Dermail around the chateau trying to escape her and a vest and bowtie got a laugh out of him.

Humming she slouched away from him a little. "Come to think of it he did always tell me he was going to marrying me off to the 'first unfortunate lad that came along.' Usually I figured he was joking," she seemed to think on it.

"Sometimes I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet him," he laughed at her little musings.

"Oh, that wouldn't have been fun. Grandfather, look who I brought home," she mimicked. "Last of his line or not, he would have hung me by my hair."

"Well, that's a pleasant thought," Quatre sarcastically deflated at the idea.

"He'd have that reaction to anyone who systematically blew up and destroyed everything he held dear."

"And then out of pure evil spite decided to go after his only granddaughter," he finished. Somehow he was thankful again that he hadn't personally met the man.

"Oh, so I'm just your dedication to finishing the job?" she mockingly sounded hurt. "You're just out to corrupt me."

"I couldn't if I wanted to, Dorothy."

"I wouldn't say that," she returned, propping her chin on his shoulder. "You have a nasty habit of rubbing off on people."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Both of them chuckled at the exchange, cozily leaned against each other. "It is true though," Dorothy broke in again, her laugh mellowing. "If Grandfather were still alive, I wouldn't have been on _Libra_. More than likely, we would have never met other than Miss Relena's school."

The implications of that twirled through his mind, bringing with it a numbing sense of providence. He didn't dare want to say that he was happy it turned out this way. Something at the expense of her closest relative's life wasn't something he could call a good thing. "I would have never known I missed you," he tried instead.

"It wouldn't harm you much," she brushed it off. "For any worth I have, if I weren't here, you'd be the same. I may mother you, but you don't really need it," she picked on him.

She was wrong. For all their teasing about corrupting each other, they had. Quatre was slowly becoming more and more aware of her influence on him, and sometimes he caught a glimpse of part of himself in her too. They were friends, confidants. They shared themselves openly enough to truly give to each other. "You underestimate your influence," he cautioned her.

Blinking she leaned back so they could look at each other and then granted him a knowing smile. "You must not mind my tactics too much then."

Wearily he sighed, "I've gotten used to it."

"Good," she returned. "Because this is the position I hold, and I've told you I'm going to stay here." Leaning closer he let her nuzzle lightly under his ear closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling. "I will grant you anything that I'm sure is in your best interest," she whispered.

"Well, as long as _you're_ sure," he teased, steering his mind from the feelings curling into him.

"Now you've got it," she laughed and backed away again, releasing him to sit up straight on the ledge of the railing.

With a hopeless nod he looked back up at the towering building over them. "Is it too late to marry you off to the first guy that comes along?"

"Oh, no. With my prospects, I'd say you're in for this for a long time to come," she purred.

With a hum he licked his lips and turned around to face her. Somewhere in the dimming light that filtered through the gardens he boldly found her eyes. "Would it be forward of me to consider that a good thing?"

Dorothy balked for a second, visibly surprised by that, but recovered to narrow her eyes at him. "Yes, Master Winner," she leaned in to stare him down, "very forward of you."

Obediently he lowered his eyes from hers, but he couldn't quite keep the smile at bay. "Well, I wouldn't want to seem like that." No, not yet.

With a laugh she slipped off the railing, sliding by him to walk away. "Oh dearest, you already have the best of me. You don't want the rest."

For a woman who thought she was always right, Dorothy had a number of things to learn she was wrong about. Happily watching her walk towards the ballroom doors, he only smiled to himself.

* * *

"We are shaped and fashioned by what we love." - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

"It is easier to keep half a dozen lovers guessing than to keep one lover after he has stopped guessing." - Helen Rowland

Edited by Spiked Jin


	43. Chapter 43

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 43

"You must have killed him in his past life," Abdul suggested, lying on his back on the floor with Deimos happily lounging on top of his chest. "He hasn't gotten past being angry," he shrugged, petting the purring kitten.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be able to remember your past lives," Quatre responded from the armchair next to them as he flipped through the security system's results.

"The spirit retains some things," Abdul informed him. "Maybe he's more enlightened in this form."

"Maybe his catnaps are actually him contemplating the Universe," he chuckled.

"Guess we got something in common then," Abdul scratched the oblivious ball of fur on top of him with a laugh.

Dorothy watched the two's exchange curiously from the arm of Quatre's chair where she'd perched herself to read over his shoulder. "I may be mistaken, but I thought you guys were all Muslims?" she questioned.

Both turned to regard her a second before Abdul broke out laughing at her. Quatre merely shook his head. "Not at all. There's no set religious preference. A number of us are Hindu," he motioned back to Abdul.

"But soon to be one more Muslim," Abdul happily observed, picking his head up to speak louder towards the other set of chairs in her tearoom.

"I'm learning, I'm learning," Manul muttered, although he was trying to pretend he wasn't paying attention to them.

"Converting, Manul?" she asked.

"Marrying," he returned with a flashed smile before going back to the control box he was working with.

Dorothy looked at him strangely a moment before raising an eyebrow at Quatre who seemed to be waiting to see if she understood that or not. "Manul has been willing to convert to Islam for a while now. But in order for Nashita to marry him that has to be finished first."

"So you can't marry outside of your religion?" she blinked down at him from the arm of the chair.

"…Not for a woman," he slowly continued. She raised an eyebrow at him to keep going and he put his papers down in his lap. "Traditionally religion is passed down through the father. For the sake of the children it is not allowed for a woman to marry a non-Muslim. However, with that same thing in mind a man is allowed, but not exactly encouraged, to marry a woman of Jewish or Christian beliefs."

"A religion of one God," she nodded to herself. "That's still rather odd considering that often you find Jewish, and sometimes Christian, views that the children are raised in the mother's faith."

"A marriage always has to start with some problem," Abdul interjected with a snort.

"I think I've discovered the reason you can't keep a girlfriend," she snipped back.

"I'm just a lone wolf, Mistress," he smirked.

"Oh? And here I thought it was just your snoring." She got the other two men to snicker to themselves.

"Well, you don't have a sister," he joked. "Not a lot of other women bully their way into getting to hear my snoring."

"Lucky me," she muttered.

"Lucky them, you mean," Manul interjected.

"Deimos, attack!" Abdul lifted a hand to point in Manul's direction but the kitty didn't even bother to wake up for it. "Huh, guess that only works on Master Quatre."

Dorothy laughed and poor Quatre only sighed to himself. "Any cat in the entire Sphere, and you pick this one."

"I like him."

"Because of, or in spite of, the fact that he hates me? Only me, I should add," he grumbled.

"Why would I intentionally pick a cat that doesn't like you? Besides, how was I supposed to know?" she defended.

Going purposefully back to the papers he ignored her. "This is you we're talking about."

Rolling her eyes with a groan she brushed it off. "You're paranoid that I do things intentionally to get to you."

"Well, I'm done," Manul suddenly announced for seemingly no purpose.

"Great! Come on, Deimos, let's go put a box back in the wall," Abdul cheered and lifted the groggily confused cat with him as the two men quickly gathered their tools and left to reinstall the sensor control.

She watched them as they left the room and turned down the hallway. Leaning in a bit closer, she turned back to find Quatre blinking after the two a bit oddly as well. "Is it just me, or have these guys been purposefully avoiding us?" she half-whispered.

Looking up at her, he gave her an awkward little smile for reassurance. "I think the guys are still worried about me."

"So they're avoiding you?" she balked.

Looking back at the reports, he averted his eyes. "Us," he corrected.

Us? What us? What did she…. "Oh."

"Ignore them," he sighed, obviously used to this.

Dorothy stayed quiet for a second as she studied his profile from the corner of her eye. He wasn't exactly back to normal. She knew these things would haunt him for a long time to come as he slowly made peace with both of his parents. But the guys knew when they were beaten as far as who would be best suited to try to comfort him.

She couldn't say she minded the appointed task. She would have taken the challenge regardless.

"Is that part of the reason you're going to the base today, instead of home?" she carefully asked. She had found it odd when he had told her the group wasn't going to leave this morning for the Colonies, but would leave for the Maguanac base for a day or two instead.

It took a second for Quatre to find his voice but he nodded to her. "Yes. I owe it to Commander Sada'ul to… inform him."

The pause in his voice gave him away. It wasn't going to be as easy as he made it seem to "inform" him of this. "I see," she vocally waved it off. If he wasn't willing to tell her, for once she wouldn't make him. He would, if and when he was ready. "Commander?" she switched the conversation. "You have a Commander and a Captain. Where exactly does the rank of Master come in at?"

He chuckled at her, raising his eyes again to find hers. "It doesn't. It's completely honorary, the same as yours… Mistress," he teased.

"Yes, but I'm not one of the forty," she purposefully refuted.

The tiny drop in his expression probably wouldn't have been noticeable if she hadn't been expecting it. The meeting today was not as innocent as he was leading her to believe. Was it possible that he was going in order to revoke his own membership? It wasn't fair. This group meant everything to him.

"I don't suppose that matters," he answered her. "I just kind of got washed into my spot by accident. It took me longer to believe I had proven myself worthy of it than it did for the others to see it in me. The title is for your own merits."

"And so, you inherited yours for what?" she asked with a smile, hoping for a good story she could flatter his ego with if nothing else.

For a moment he looked at her, obviously wondering something. "Have I ever told you how I met them?"

"No," she answered. "I figured you knew them all along."

With a smile he shook his head. "No, I met them in 193. I was supposed to take my first trip to Earth with some of the company's officers. I don't remember why now," he added, turning away in thought. "I remember it was against my father's wishes, but I decided I could handle it anyway. Probably just to be away from him."

"193?" she interrupted. "That recent?"

"Did you think I knew them longer?" he smiled at her again. "No, I was thirteen by then."

Thirteen. His turning point. So this was what he'd meant those times he told her about how he was before. It was before the Maguanacs.

When she didn't say anything else he turned away again to continue with his memories. "We got close to the satellite orbit when my shuttle and three others were ordered to surrender and follow these people who called themselves Maguanac, the family. There was no point in resisting and we were led to the MO-III satellite."

Ordered? This group could be intimidating, she was sure, but they didn't seem like the types to use force on a few civilian ships.

"The satellite was being used mainly by the Federation to keep scientists and workers who… did not agree with their points of view. They were being held prisoner without anyone else knowing. The Maguanacs found out and launched a plan to free them and return them to Earth."

"Ah," she hummed to herself. "MO-III. Yes, I recognize that. Another of Tubarov's fine objectives."

"Really?" he blinked at her, taken off guard.

"Oh, that man was always up to something. I forget what dastardly stupid plot he was up to that time. Probably his worthless shield-armor that always sunk."

"Sunk?"

Nodding she chuckled, "They were working on developing the Cancer by then. They had a difficult time trying to get it to float."

Quatre laughed at her, "It's really a horrible design. They added too many unnecessary extremes. Especially for underwater targets."

"Tubarov was the master of unnecessary extremes," she spit out, her loathe for the man apparent. The slimy cockroach wasn't squished fast enough for her taste.

"Well, that sheds a little light on it," he waved it off and rose to his feet to place the report pages back on the chair. "Where was I?"

"Getting to the satellite," she helpfully replied.

"Yes, well, the point in capturing our shuttles was: first that they believed since Winner Mining controlled the equipment on the satellite that we had something to do with holding these people captive, and second that they were the best way to get the people out and back to Earth without being immediately suspected entering the atmosphere."

"Good plan," she surmised.

"It would have worked better if one of them hadn't betrayed them," he answered solemnly.

"Betrayed them?"

"He sold out to the Federation and called them in as soon as they were all on the Satellite," he confirmed, tucking his hands in his pockets and pacing over to the window behind their chair in thought.

"That doesn't sound like the Maguanacs I know," she commented.

"He… didn't make it," Quatre confessed. "So, they had a vacancy. But because of me, he got loose and got a shot off at Rasid. I didn't manage to shove him out of the way in time and we were both hit. Rasid got the worst of it though."

"You were shot?" she started, staring up at his side as he quietly gazed out the window.

"Grazed my shoulder is all," he brushed it off but moved a hand to rub absently at his left shoulder. "Rasid took the bullet high to the chest. Thankfully it missed anything vital. Something he still claims was somehow because of me," he turned to flash her a small smile.

She hummed at the image and knew he was obviously being modest in his retelling. Raising a hand up from the chair back, she held her chin to watch him as he turned back to continue with his story.

"By then the Federation was already on top of us. The people were being sent to Earth while they went out to hold off the mobile suits. With Rasid injured he stayed with the civilians and they were two men short. So… I convinced them to let me go with them," he smiled to himself.

Dorothy dropped her chin to stare openly at him. "One of them shot you so you decided to join up?"

"Oh, no," he turned to look down at her. "Actually I wanted to join because Rasid slapped me, but I skipped that part," he gave her a tight smile at her expression.

Rolling her eyes she lowered her head in dismay. "What is it with men always beating each other up and being happy about it?"

"Well, I wasn't all that enthused at first," he mumbled.

Holding up a hand she waved it at him. "Start over."

"OK," he obliged. "Guys kidnapped me and took me to the satellite," he abbreviated.

"Wait!" she interrupted again. "I thought they just wanted the shuttles?"

"Well they did," he agreed. "But at the time they didn't know that father didn't know what was going on with the workers, so they figured it couldn't hurt to have some insurance. I was a hostage," he explained.

"Oh, how nice," she muttered. "Alright, go on."

"Kidnapped, on the satellite," he tried again. "Rasid calls my father and figures out he didn't know the workers were there against their will and Father agrees to help the Maguanacs. At the same time, he asks me what I thought I was doing running away to Earth and… I started an argument with him in the middle of the whole station," he sighed at himself. "And I made a point to throw mine, and my sisters', artificial births in his face in the process."

Dorothy cringed for his sake. He hadn't been kidding that he'd never made it easy on his father to keep that secret from him.

"Rasid kind of took it into his own hands, turned me around and slapped me for it," he continued. "He said that he didn't know what my situation was, but that I should have some pride in myself. He openly admitted to me that he was born from a test tube as well. I guess it was his way of saying I didn't have any excuse to be such a…."

"Jerk?" Dorothy supplied.

Cringing a little and looking down at her, Quatre gave her a humorless smile. "Actually, if you'll pardon the language, I would have called myself an ass," he half-whispered and quickly turned away again.

She balked, stunned outright. If he would have used anything stronger she would have fallen off the chair. "Quatre," she broke a chuckle. The politeness poster-boy had actually said a naughty word in front of her…. What a turn on.

"I can't help it if it's true," he stated. "Anyway, after that I realized they were all born that way. It was Instructor H. that told me how they were only out to help the victims of the wars. That it meant they were pure and kind."

"The scientist who built Sandrock?" she asked.

Blinking the thoughts back he seemed to catch himself again. "Yes, that was where I met him. He couldn't go back to Earth, and told me that he would be counting on me when the time came. It was a few months later when he showed up again, and I managed to get him a place for his research while he trained me," Quatre nodded.

"That was it? That was how he chose you?" she raised an eyebrow. "You were just standing around nursing a bruised cheek and gun-shot wound and he decided you were it?"

"I hadn't been shot yet," he corrected her. "But, yeah I guess," he shrugged. "I never really asked why he sought me out."

If it was that danged easy to get a Gundam she should have spent more time on the Colonies as a kid. "Alright, so when were you shot?" she moved on.

"After I overheard the traitor give away our position and hauled him in front of Rasid and the others."

"And then he got loose and shot both of you and then… he didn't make it?" she paraphrased.

"Pretty much," he brushed it off. "Rasid made sure that the civilians got out after he was bandaged up, and I tried to convince the others to give me one of the open suits to defend against the Federation."

"With an injured shoulder?"

"It wasn't that bad," he nodded. "The guys were more than a little reluctant to trust me though. Auda actually threatened to step on me and squish me."

She broke out laughing when he turned to smile at her. "I can see him doing that," she agreed with the image.

"They finally relented and Rasid stood up for me, telling me to take his suit and his goggles. He's still never let me return them," he smiled to himself out the window again.

"Goggles?" she questioned. What good were goggles in a space fight?

Quatre only nodded in affirmation. "Once we were outside the satellite I managed to impress them I think, because they actually followed my lead on the attack formations. I just—"

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "Sandrock wasn't built yet, and you met the scientist there, right?"

He turned to her and nodded, "Yes."

"How did you know how to pilot a suit?" she blatantly accused.

With a cringe he gave her an embarrassed smile and turned away again. "Well… it's similar to some of the manned scouting suits that we used for mining."

Dorothy set her chin back on her hand and narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, they have arms and legs and thrust controls. What they don't have are 360-degree targeting sensors or weapons. I dare say that a mobile suit is far more complicated," she reasoned.

"I picked it up quickly," he offered.

Picked it up? The Alliance soldiers trained on simulators for six months before they got their real suits for combat training. "You're serious, aren't you?" she mumbled, staring at him in something like mild fascination.

"The attack units weren't expecting resistance; they were caught mainly by surprise. And it was not my best fight," he chuckled with a shrug. "But I lived through it, and for once that really mattered to me."

She sat, her eyes fixed on his inattentive form as he gazed out the window into the memories he had called up. Quatre Raberba Winner. One of the strongest people she had ever known. The most capable, strategic, calculated and controlled. And yet, the most scarred and least suited for battle.

Pure and kind. Nothing had taken that from him. …How had he done it?

Lowering her eyes, she meekly looked away. Dorothy had given in; had nearly destroyed herself. She had been at the point he was before. In giving herself a purpose she had forsaken her humanity. Quatre had found his in his purpose.

It wasn't often that she knew when she was humbled before someone… but she was now. Were they always so opposite?

"I knew I couldn't go back with them," Quatre obliviously continued with his line of thought. "They returned to Earth with the workers but I knew I couldn't go with them. I wasn't strong enough yet. They had accepted me already though, but I didn't get to meet with them again until I finally did make it to Earth under Operation Meteor."

Turning back, Dorothy dotingly studied his profile. There was a tug of a smile to his lips as he, in turn, carefully scrutinized the view beyond the glass.

"I wouldn't have appreciated the Earth if I had come the first time," he seemed to reflect. Closing his eyes with a peaceful sigh he let the smile break finally. "And you have a good idea of the rest," he finished, turning to face her.

And she blinked back the heart-on-her-sleeve feeling he'd stirred in her. Quickly she flashed him a smile as well and closed her eyes to nod to herself. "Impressive, Master Winner. I don't suppose I should expect less." He chuckled and she reigned herself back in, wondering at the reaction at such a time.

"I doubt you're so easily impressed, Miss Dorothy," he responded.

"No," she confirmed, rising from her place and turning towards the door, "I'm never _easily_ impressed."

* * *

As soon as the carrier door was opened Deimos took off like a bullet for the corner of her office which housed his beloved cathouse. The poor little guy didn't really appreciate his carrier, especially after riding in the car for so long. He just needed to burn off some kitten energy.

Relieved that he wasn't all that interested in playing with her, Dorothy dropped the rest of her luggage by the stairs. Happy to be home again, she slipped out of her shoes and started for the kitchen for a cup of tea to shake off the drive.

Her eyes fell on her front coffee table though, and stopped her. Felicia had obviously taken care to water her bouquet while she was gone and the flowers still presented themselves beautifully. Her fun little maid would have more than likely stuck her nose in them each time she passed, and then grumbled under her breath that no man had done that for her.

Felicia insisted that Dorothy was spoiled to have a man like Quatre in her life, and believed she needed to be dunked in the lake a few times by her ankles until she admitted they were dating. Since the time her friend had met Quatre on his first visit here the woman had apparently been struck with a crush on him. So, since she didn't really seem to have much of a chance herself, she somehow vicariously wanted Dorothy to.

Obviously the girl failed to realize that Dorothy didn't have a shot either. She was probably just after a good story, and Quatre made an excellent Prince Charming on the surface.

Slowly she found herself in front of the flowers and sank down to sit on the floor between the table and the sofa. Scooting the vase forward, she sniffed at a couple of the perfect blossoms before crinkling her nose. Greenhouse flowers always smelled funny for some reason.

They were beautiful though. Dorothy touched the petals of a two-toned red and white rose that faced her. The whisper of her fingertips circled round the petals as they spiraled towards the center, touching only the red that presented itself on the outer tips.

There was a nagging worry in her that seemed to whisper past her conscious much the same way. Her dear Prince Charming had a wart… and a beer gut, and male-pattern baldness. Well, not physically. Although the idea of a 'beer' gut was funny considering the person….

But that was off topic. Her dearest Quatre was singularly as perfect as the figment of the ideal male could be. She wouldn't deny him the flattery he deserved. But she also knew that he was a rather tortured soul.

She didn't know how he managed it sometimes. How did one person carry the worries and burdens that she knew he held in his heart and still leave himself so open to everything? Sometimes she really thought he brought things on himself. He was naive to a fault, never able to say no and let people walk over him.

And what really annoyed her about the whole thing was that it annoyed her. He was right, she did mother him; she admitted that now. She was far too protective of him for what he should mean to her.

It really wasn't that she thought of him as childish—or incapable as he accused her of. Most of the time she only did it to pick on him. Poor soul, she'd be ashamed of herself if he didn't take it so well.

But he worried her. His very nature worried her to some extent. He was so unguarded, so willing to be caught up in anyone else's problems, hers included. It wasn't healthy.

The Lady Catalonia knew both the benefits, and the loneliness, of haughtily closing herself off. It was natural to her, something she was raised with and had never doubted. It was merely her character, nothing maniacal or deceptive.

But sweet, kind Quatre…. The man had no fronts, no shells, no defenses. He was all heart. But she had also come to understand that he was far stronger for it. He had to be. The poor man had more problems than she could keep track of some days.

He had tried to close himself up, years before she had met him. Before his life was changed by a group of men who were noble and pure in their sense of honor.

Brushing the petal tips of the rose in front of her, she studied the center of the flower, the protected heart of white.

He had tried to brush off the importance of their trip today, but she knew very well what the outcome of their Commander's decision would have on him. He was rubbing off on her more than she thought. Wasn't she the one worried now for the sake of someone else, even if it had nothing to do with her? He would consider her kind for her concern. …Maybe she was. She never used to worry about anything before. Was it age, or simply the company she kept now?

Quatre was already pained deeply by the revelation that his conception and birth had been the cause of his mother's death. How he blamed himself she didn't understand. For his inability to distance himself from others, he had still taken the wrong approach to the entire situation.

And he called her a pessimist.

That really wasn't fair. With the tender, loving heart he possessed, he still seemed to understand it so little. He needed to be nurtured a bit more. He had friends, and family that he was still growing into, and she knew he loved them far more deeply than the average person would. But they, for some reason, didn't seem to fill the desire in him.

Dorothy would never admit it to anyone—wouldn't even dare speak it out loud—but she knew he was lonely. She felt it in him. The way he held her wasn't friendly anymore. It wasn't even… "whatever-they-were"-ly. He was searching for something, and it had startled her to think that he was—wittingly or not—searching her for it.

But she wasn't overly concerned. The one thing she knew he needed, he wouldn't find in her. She wasn't capable of granting him a tender heart or the oblivious soothing of a good woman. She couldn't give him some accidental attraction or a careless romance. She'd gag herself over the sugary sentiments if she tried showering him with her homely excuse for affections.

Dorothy knew him too well. She knew the dark calculation of a soldier. She knew the damningly addictive command of adrenaline. What she didn't know was how to be sweet and gentle. Merciful, yes. She knew how to deal with the dark fears and insecurities that crept in, at least as well as they could be dealt with. But she had no room for loving gazes or sappy kissy noises.

She knew him the way the Maguanacs did. The way the rest of the Gundam pilots did. …Not the way his family would. Quatre wasn't a warrior the way the others were. He was a protector, a lover. He would never jeopardize his closest loved ones by showing them exactly what he was capable of.

He'd be ashamed to scare them.

That duality that she enjoyed playing with, it was ridiculously satisfying. She smirked at the flower that stared back at her. He was her perfect rival, her favorite denial… her partner. The white to her red.

She would leave the fulfillment of his mushier qualities to a better woman. Dorothy claimed only the whisper in his ear for herself. His future loves be damned. If another wanted to usurp her, she'd let them try.

His heart was available. His passion was hers. And although it was by far the smallest piece of him, it was the one way her escort matched her.

She just may begin to like pink.

* * *

"Quatre, my boy! Come in, come in!" the jovial, squat, little man waved him into the inner room that he called an office.

Commander Sada'ul's smile was addictive and impossible to ignore. It was probably one of the reasons this man was chosen to keep watch over the civilians and families of the active soldiers of the corp. Although formerly a soldier, he had taken this position to be the strategic analyst of the group, the one to keep order among the soldiers, civilians and families. It couldn't be an easy task.

"Nice to see you again, Commander," he returned as the shorter man raced around to greet him with a hearty hand-shake and a couple slaps on the back.

"Come in, come in," he repeated. "Rasid said you needed to speak with me. Sit, son. What can I do for you?" he asked, pushing him into a pillowed chair next to the folding table that he used as a desk.

Quatre chuckled at him. To the Commander everyone in the corps was "boy," or "son" as though he really was a father to any of them. Any civilian was "lad" or "gentleman," and any woman was "young lady" no matter how old she was.

It was nice. It made for a safe environment feeling.

"Commander Sada'ul… I'm afraid that I've unintentionally lied to you."

* * *

"I'm sorry, son," the man quietly comforted him, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You've always had such a hard time with this, but perhaps this is harder."

Quatre nodded again as he sat in silence waiting for the heart of this conversation to come. The Commander had listened with surprised eyes to his story of finding out about his birth, and had sputtered out an "oh dear" now and again, but listened until he completely dropped into silence at the end.

"I don't know why it never occurred to me that it could have been worse," Quatre admitted. "I never thought of this."

"It's not your fault, don't let yourself be troubled by those thoughts. They aren't true," came the sage advice.

"I know," he confirmed. "But I can't shake the feeling."

"Of course, of course," he nodded and tapped a finger to his chin a moment. "It may take you some time."

Looking down, he steeled his resolve. "Commander, you know I never meant to join under false pretenses."

"Hm? Oh, yes, of course. No harm done, my boy," he slapped his shoulder, pressing him into the chair as he leaned over him with his hands on both shoulders. "You have always been the embodiment of what we strive to be. Our code will never be so strict to exclude something that no one can control. Has this actually worried you?"

Breaking a shakily grateful smile at the paternal figure, he swallowed, but didn't know how to answer him.

"Quatre!" he laughingly chided him. Stepping back he moved away to the framed photos of the group from years past and tucked his hands behind his back. "Our ways are slowly fading now. I am proud of the accomplishments that we have been a part of, but the era of peace has already begun to erode us as easily as the sands."

Quatre rose to his feet behind him as the man continued to look through shots of festivals and training in the unorganized grouping on the wall.

"I will be dearly sorry to see our time pass, but we were not formed to last forever, only until we were last needed." Turning, the shorter man smiled up at him. "What we need now are men like yourself. Those weary, but ever vigilant, of war. If we maintain ourselves only to fight we will end up causing just that. But if we remain as a band of brothers, as The Family, we stay true and observant, but happy that the battles have passed."

With a soft smile, Quatre nodded obediently to him. "I understand."

"I know you do," he turned back to the wall. "I look out at this camp everyday, and I see the families together and happy. It is something I have seen very little of in my lifetime." Turning completely around, he patted his shoulder again. "And each year, I see more natural births from our group. We have returned to Earth for enough generations that even that is breaking down." Smiling broadly, he walked away towards the door, "Come enjoy it, son. You're home again."

Quatre laughed in spite of himself and turned to follow, the weight of problem lightened enormously.

"Unless," he stopped at the door, "there was something else?" he questioned.

Quatre shook his head, "No, Sir."

"Ah," he gave a disappointed little frown. "And here I thought this was going to be about that young lady," he mumbled instead and continued out the door.

And Quatre faltered to a standstill for a second. "Why would you think that?"

With a trailing chuckle his Commander just kept walking away, making him quickly move to catch up. "Quatre, my boy, there's only one thing I know better than my men… and that is their women," he laughed. "A perk I don't mind, by the way. Hasn't anyone ever told you that I hear everything?"

"Well, I don't imagine that it was hard for you to hear about Dorothy, Sir. But… she's not mine," he corrected, figuring the guys might just leave out that little fact.

"Really?" he off-handedly questioned. "But you knew who I meant, didn't you?" he chuckled, leading along the pathways towards the thick outer wall of sandstone.

Everyone used that on him like it meant something. "Truthfully there aren't a whole lot of women in my life other than her."

"Well, no matter," he brushed it off as he opened a second story door and stepped out with him. "But I have heard a lot about this lady, who is always synonymous with you, by the way," he turned to wink at him as they stood on the outer ledge of a balcony.

The wave of heat that washed over them was rather welcome. Quatre closed the door behind them and stood watching the bustle of the village community come to life this close to sunset. "I'm sure you have. She's a very… noteworthy woman."

"Ah, my boy, spit it out," the man chuckled, looking up at him. "You're not good at beating around the bush."

Giving the elder man a shy smile he closed his eyes at the expectant look. "Commander, I… I don't know what to tell you."

"Oh?" There was a pause and he looked back at the man to see a confused look to him. "Oh dear," he responded. "Teenagers," Sada'ul finally puffed out with a shake of his head, "always tripping into love the hard way."

Quatre's smile slipped away. Was he that horribly transparent to everyone?

"Have you told her, my boy?" he asked, far more sober than his typical jolly nature.

Swallowing tightly he averted his eyes to the shadows cast by the Western structures. "No, Sir," he answered quietly.

"Ah!" he happily returned, nodding. "Well, that's better than being spurned outright, son," he laughed. Turning away to the view as well he tucked his hands behind his back again. "Oddest thing. The men who are the bravest to go to battle and risk their lives are the hardest to get to admit their feelings. All it takes to go to war is a lack of brains. It takes guts to love a woman as she deserves."

Quatre chuckled at the teasing, thankful for the turn in the mood. "Then I'll admit to being a coward."

"You're young still, son. Don't admit to that yet," he shook his head. "What's stopping you, Quatre? The women around here seem to think you're something," he teased.

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled it off. Most of the women around here that he knew were wives and girlfriends who picked on him mercilessly for being "cute" considering he was far younger than most of the others. The rest of the village he didn't know well enough. "Dorothy is different."

"Everyone says that," he nodded to himself. "But for once, I must say I should agree with you." Turning back, he looked at him oddly again. "You're setting yourself a difficult goal, aren't ya?"

Quatre looked at him curiously a moment, not expecting that. "I suppose I am," he answered truthfully. "I try not to think of it like that."

"You should," Sada'ul solemnly nodded. Facing away again he watched the bustle of the quickly dimming streets below. "The earliest blossoms are always the most beautiful because they are the first we see. But they bloom only once."

He stood stunned, watching the man's back as the shadows began to cool.

"This lady is different, Quatre. She is a fighter in her own right. She may well understand the pieces of you that few outside of this place ever will. But she may not be content with that," he reasoned seemingly to himself. "Two such strong wills often oppose each other, even without meaning to."

And his heart sank. For the first time, he'd opened up just enough with someone… who validated every fear he already knew. "She…" he swallowed, trying to find a way to defend her. Defend them. "She is a very strong woman," he admitted instead, only able to agree.

With a snort the little man chuckled. "Strong woman is redundant, Quatre. I don't need to be in this position to see that," he answered. "It's not her strength that you have to worry about living with. It's her temperament. Her will. Like any spirited fighter, you'll have to break her."

"Commander?" he blinked as the other turned back to him again with a little smile.

"And I dare say that it is far easier for a woman's wiles to break a man, than it is for the opposite." With a laugh, he nodded to himself. "They have far more… advantages," he winked.

Quatre about blushed at his superior's obvious meaning, and laughed at the idea of it.

* * *

He quietly slipped out of the hall at close to midnight local time. The group of Maguanacs that had taken his offer to remain working in the Colonies didn't get back to the base that often, and so there was a lot of catching up. Actually there was a lot good-natured arguments and very loud teasing.

Quatre had hopelessly tried to rescue his future brother-in-law from the torrent of accusations and bad marital advice, but had failed to block any of it. Instead he had to resist the attempts to get the rest of his available sisters' phone numbers.

The night air was cool by now, but he still wandered the outer courtyards of the village, reveling in the absolute silence of the night. …Well, aside from a few of the louder laughing bouts coming from the opened doors of the hall and a few whirling sounds from the stacked-together houses.

Slipping past it all, he meandered up the stepped path through the Western buildings that led to the outer ring of protective sandstone walls. Sandstorms weren't too common in this section of the plain, but the daily blowing of dust and sand could wear down adobe faster than most people could rebuild.

But the winds were fairly calm tonight, bordering on cold. Getting a running start, he easily vaulted onto a low roofline of one of the half-sunken buildings and hoisted himself up on top of the two-foot thick divider between civilization and barren desert.

There was something buried in him—buried in his ancestry probably—that deeply loved the simplicity and intricacy modeled in the desert. Beauty that everyone could see but few had the will to survive. Something so formidable that very few found the benefit in harnessing.

None of them knew what they were missing.

Walking along the wall, he stopped towards the Northern corner, where the buildings were shielding the wind, and sat down, crossing his legs under him. This really wasn't like him. If the guys knew he had disappeared to come out here alone instead of just turning in they would probably worry. But he needed a little time to think and the perfect, clear sky of stars and the moon over the sand dunes in the distance would peacefully let him.

His talk with Command Sada'ul had relieved his heaviest fear, but had brought up another that he hadn't thought of. The concept that Dorothy would be a difficult chase had entered his mind more than once. And he understood that the battle to keep her would be just as hard as his battle to win her. What he hadn't thought of was that it went both ways.

Dorothy had broken him. Easily. She had ignored his feeble resistance to her and then systematically snapped his ability to deny himself from her. And she took great pleasure in reminding him of that. All she had to do was run a hand along the back of his neck, or whisper in his ear, and she claimed him.

It was her way. The drive in her to determine a person's breaking point. She simply didn't know that in the process….

The breeze swirled past in a gust and Quatre blinked, clearing the thoughts away again. The whisper in his ear…. The thought brought with it a memory that overran his other senses as he stared past the moonlight silvered dunes. The feeling of her at his back, her face brushing his shoulder and neck, the silken whisper of her voice. _"And I intend to stay right here."_

He'd felt that. Had felt the way she said it; the way she held onto him. What was it?

Straining his memories he fought to come up with what had nagged at him about it. She'd said it before, had said it since then. He knew she wanted to be a counselor to him… that wasn't it. He was missing something.

She had him—held him—exactly where he was the most vulnerable to her. She should have said that she would keep him right there. But it wasn't a condition. It was… an offer—an insistence maybe.

It was her assurance to him.

He scanned the silent sands as though they were the shadowed mounds of his memories, looking for the break in the mirage.

Yes, she had broken him, but she was also the tourniquet to the wound.

Her assurance. Her promise to him. His memories looped, feelings that he had known while she was still there, just over his shoulder, coming back in whispers. She had refused to simply sympathize with him. She had been convinced that the story told of a mother's love more than of any mistaken accident. He remembered thinking it was odd that she was being so optimistic, that she was empathizing so quickly with his mother.

He'd lost the train of thought when he'd asked her if she would have done the same. But now, now he felt it without the distraction of her physical presence. Her memory was the only thing that whispered in his ear, _"And I intend to stay right here." _

Quatre's eyes slipped closed as he chased the other thoughts away with a deep breath of the chilly, dry air.

She loved him.

He covered his heart, stilling his breath for a moment, listening to the flashes of insight as he always did and counting out her reactions and the feeling in her touch. Her absolute certainty that he had been loved, even while still unborn, spoke volumes to him now.

How long had he missed this?

That wasn't the right question. He'd always known her affections; the quiet, subtle way she cared that created this craving in him for her. She wasn't pouring herself out the way he felt he was. She watered him, one distant deluge at a time. Like desert plants he needed and craved her, but too much and he'd drown under attention he wasn't used to. The easy, gracious way she indulged his feelings. The nearly maternal care she granted him… that was her love.

And it shouldn't have surprised him. He knew her heart. He knew the tender but careful attachment she gave to those few that she stayed with. She was unique—beautiful—in heart and mind.

But it wasn't the way he loved her. It wasn't really the way he wanted to know she loved him. But it was real. She loved him like family, like a simple piece of her life. She had let him in. Let him in deeper, possibly, than he had allowed her in return.

They weren't really comparing the same type of affection. He had fallen romantically in love with her—had been stolen by her. But he had cradled himself into her heart. His arguments that she mothered him were truer than he thought, and he should slap himself for rebuking it. Her care and her devotion were as strong as any woman's could be. What she lacked….

Commander Sada'ul was correct. What she lacked was the breaking point. Quatre hadn't managed to attract her far enough to where she was willing to face the boundaries and problems between them solely in order to be with him.

He didn't know if he could.

* * *

"Just because somebody doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have." - Author Unknown

AN: The story of Quatre and the Maguanacs is as true to character (with a few mild additions) as I could take out of Episode Zero. Just in case you were curious. And everyone thinks they call him "Master" because he's rich or something. Ha! But seriously… how the heck did he know how to pilot a MS? Especially considering he obviously skipped his knot-tying merit badge. :)

Edited by: Spiked Jin.


	44. Chapter 44

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 44

His breathing was heavy by the time the sticks were passed to his third opponent. Auda had taken his toll on him, but for once the far larger man hadn't put an end to his run. Quatre stood ready at the edge of the practice gym, circled by most of the guys who were on base plus a few of the curious civilians. The group had eagerly called for a practice day, and he was ready.

Quatre quickly wiped his brow against the sleeve of his t-shirt as Manul took the double sticks from a weary Auda who nursed his bruised ego off the floor. In mobile suit combat, Quatre was well known for his prowess, but a hand-to-hand physical challenge usually found him wanting in comparison to these men.

He intended to change that. The war might be over, but Quatre had decided somewhere in the middle of the cold night of the desert that he wasn't finished proving himself yet.

"Looking a little tired there, Master Quatre," Manul taunted him as he took his position.

"You can't hurt me too badly, Manul. I have to sign your marriage contract," he tossed back.

The others laughed at the tease and loudly agreed with him. It gave him a little time to recuperate. Beating Auda was a feat in itself. The man was one of the best sparring partners they had. Manul had the same advantage with quickness and agility that he did.

Reading the man in front of him, Quatre scrutinized him and went for the surprise move. Being idiotically bold was only a good thing if no one expected it from you. This would only work once.

Manul barely had enough time to block the first set of attack strokes as the striped, wooden rods connected harshly. Backing out of the fray, Manul tried again and again to reset himself to mount a sufficient defense, but Quatre didn't let up to give him the chance, knowing if he did he wouldn't be able to finish it.

Far more ambidextrous than most of the men here in a two-handed battle, Quatre used it to his full benefit as he mounted a blow to Manul's right hand hard enough to force his arm defensively across his chest, minimizing his left hand's reach. Spinning towards his opponent's now exposed side, Quatre brought his right stick to hold an inch from Manul's neck.

It took a second for the other to figure out that were they dueling with actual blades in a real fight, he'd have his throat slit by now. With a wide-eyed expression of disbelief he disengaged and stared at him. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

The surrounding group echoed back the same teasing words of victory for him and Quatre lowered his weapons with a laugh between panting. "I didn't have a chance otherwise," he tried to bolster his friend again.

With a disgusted groan the other man moved away to the waiting crowd, passing off the practice sticks to someone else, Quatre didn't really care who. He was in no shape to keep this up. He'd been on the mat for a suicidal amount of time. The "easy" victory over Manul was a fluke and he knew it.

He should surrender, give up his sticks, and sit out the rest of the impromptu tournament. And he may have… yesterday.

Dropping down he propped his hands on his knees for a moment and breathed for a few minutes until the switch was made and he had his final opponent. The guys were expecting him to fold, the calls from around the mat were almost chanting for him to give up his run, offers coming in to take his place eagerly.

But standing to full height he squared his shoulders and took a defensive stance once more, running his sticks along each other as though to sharpen the "blades" before looking up to judge his target.

Rasid. With a mild mental curse he stood waiting anyway. Leadership was not the only reason that the tall, burly man had been chosen as their Captain. He was versed and seasoned in every aspect of combat. Quatre had little hope of beating him when primed and ready, let alone now.

The man calmly met his gaze, probably wondering if he'd back down. But with a very slight shake of his head, his Captain gave him a smirk before walking up to take a start position—and immediately launched into an attack.

The first blow could probably have shattered his own practice rod if it had made contact. Quatre saw the vicious strength of the blow coming and dodged outright, not even attempting to mount a defense. The second, left-handed attack was pointed and aimed directly for his chest.

Ducking quickly he had no choice but to hit the floor rolling, pushing off he popped back to a crouch at the side of the mat in time to watch Rasid turn to follow him. The rush of adrenaline from the unforeseen mercilessness of the attack hauled him to his feet in pure fight-or-flight response.

Nothing relented in the elder man's reaction time and the full brunt of his fighting skills came barreling at him full tilt, a cry of exhilaration included.

_Avoid!_ It was the only thing his strategic side screamed at him. Dodging and rolling again he let the harsh blows slide past him. He couldn't hope to combat blows like that. Trying was only going to get him hurt along with being tossed out of this fight.

This wasn't like Rasid.

It was a flash of insight that he barely had time to think of while he was squirming for his life to get back to his feet before the other caught up with him again.

Ducking quickly from a high blow, he took the chance and dropped again, this time using the time to pivot himself to aim a kick at the back of the far taller man's knees. It may have worked if his reaction speed wasn't sluggish from the first three matches.

Rasid hopped back from the blow and he only managed a slight grazing before full panic set it. Quatre was in a terrible position under a completely unfazed opponent. Snapping his feet back, he hit his knees and tried to give himself a chance to move away by getting his feet back.

He barely managed to stand before he tried to sidestep the tree trunk of an arm that appeared at the side of his vision. It did him no good.

Mercifully forsaking the practice stick, Rasid's forearm collided with his chest and smashed him bodily to the floor.

Quatre laid there while the whole world turned around him a few times before he felt himself suck in his breath again. The blow had knocked the air out of him and dazed him for a few seconds before he realized he was actually flat on his back on the mat, looking up at Rasid's face as the man knelt over him on one knee… with a smile.

"I've never seen you practice this hard, Master Quatre," he attempted to compliment.

"Thanks," he wheezed out before coughing and then trying to get his breath back.

Rasid offered him a hand and Quatre realized that he'd never let go of the worthless sticks through the whole encounter. With an internal laugh at himself he let his Captain almost physically haul him to his feet and steady him a second. He might not be the absolute best fighter, but he was well trained.

With a slap on the back, Rasid just about knocked him over again as the rest of the group cheered their approval. Wiping the sweat from his forehead again, he gave them as much of a smile as he could manage while he forced air in and out of his burning lunges.

He was going to pay for this tomorrow.

* * *

Pulling the shirt over his head, Quatre noticed it was still soggy. They may have ended their session hours ago, but in the desert heat a person could lose a lot of water just sitting around.

Getting the thing over his head, he groaned at the ache centered in every muscle he didn't know he had. A nagging pain flashed from his right arm and he looked down to find purple bruise spreading from where Auda had gotten in a good hit. Considering it was aimed for his head, he considered himself lucky. Plus it matched the one on his knee and the one along the top knuckles of his left hand.

No blood, no foul. Besides, it didn't hurt… at least enough to admit to. That wouldn't be manly.

He internally chuckled at himself, mainly because it would be too much of a strain on his abs right now if he did it out loud.

He'd sat out the rest of the ordeal, literally, with his back against the cool stucco wall as the others jumped into the fray one after another. There was no winner really. No one, not even Rasid, lasted more than four or five turns. But Quatre had been hailed as the endurance champion for the morning, something he was rather proud of.

The war might be over, but he didn't believe that meant his training should fall away. A good deal of his hand-to-hand skills had come during and afterwards anyway, mainly thanks to the Maguanacs. Since taking over the company he had stuck to mainly exercises though, and they weren't keeping his edge. He intended to change that when he had the opportunity of a willing opponent.

The drawstring fatigues ended up in the same pile on the floor as his shirt and were soon followed by the rest of his clothing. Water was conserved as a national treasure out here, so personal showers were timed down to five minutes, and he used every precious second he got before the showerhead clicked itself off. It wasn't enough.

Drying off he wrapped the towel around himself and moved back to his bedroom to flop down on the bed, willing the tight ache to slip away from his body. But with a smile he realized that this had really been fun. It had been a long time since he'd been pushed to his limits, as Rasid had purposefully seen to.

Quatre was a little surprised by that decision on his friend's part, but he understood. He had chosen to continue when he knew he didn't have a chance. Their Captain was obviously one to recognize the challenge.

It was all right with him. It was what he wanted. Whether it was healthy or not, he felt he hadn't been pushing himself enough lately. He hadn't been tested in a while, and he didn't like the feeling that he was slipping.

He had found his desire to prove himself to himself again. Maybe in the process he would find a way to prove himself to….

A muted tune started in the background as Quatre blinked his eyes back open. His phone had been left on the table by the window of his sparse little room, and now chimed for attention. A tune that was only used for one person in his phone book. "The Ride of the Valkyries."

He'd somehow found that appropriate for her.

Rising stiffly, he picked up the phone and flipped it on. "Hello."

"Enjoying yourself?"

He blinked but figured he wouldn't be lying. "Yes, actually."

"Good. I was beginning to think you were just avoiding me, and I didn't appreciate that."

Breaking a smile, he sighed at the thought. "Never. I just didn't have my phone with me. What can I do for you?"

"I think I found my favorite."

With a smile he moved back to the bed and eased himself back down. "A favorite what, Miss Dorothy?" he bit.

"Rose. I've been studying these for two days now, and I think I've decided," she seemed to be thoughtfully considering this.

With a smile he closed his eyes. "Really? Should I take a guess?"

"Oh, please," she brightened at the suggestion. "What should it be?"

Considering a moment, he tried to picture her with the flowers. "Normally I would say red, just because it seems to suit you. But that's too common of a color," he reasoned. "Something different…" he added with a pause. "Peach?"

"You know, I do like the peach, that and this violet-lilac color. But actually no, your first guess was closer."

"Orange?" he guessed.

"Not so much," she refuted.

"Yellow then. You look very nice in yellow," he slipped in the compliment.

"Oh, well thank you," she mumbled. "No."

"OK, I don't remember all the colors so I give up. What is it?" he asked through the grin.

"A two-tone, red and white. Quite pretty."

That sounded fitting for some reason. "Fire and Ice."

"Excuse me?" she questioned.

"It's called Fire and Ice. I remember that much," he joked. "The man at the floral shop was _very_ helpful with everything."

"He seemed like a sweet person," Dorothy agreed. "Well, whatever they are, now you know."

"Next year I'll be sure to get that right," he mentally filed the information away.

"You should really pick a favorite too, Quatre. I'd hate for you not to like your own funeral arrangement," she half-growled at him.

He laughed before he instantly regretted it. "Ow, ow. Please don't make me laugh."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

He would have been happier over a show of kind concern if she hadn't chuckled through the sentences, obviously knowing that he was fine. Clearing his throat he moved the phone to the other hand and tried to place it back to his ear before the motion made him see dots for a second as he forgot about the, ever expanding, bruise centered on his right upper arm. Switching back he blinked the pain away. "Do you remember commenting on men always beating each other up and being happy about it?"

"Oh, dear," she muttered. "How bad?" she sighed, sounding a lot like Sally in that one sentence.

"…I'm going to be sore for a while," he humbly admitted.

"Broken bones? Black eyes? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He broke a chuckle despite his best intentions and cringed at the crawling prickles that assaulted him. "No, no, nothing like that," he responded, holding back from voicing the pain to her.

Dorothy laughed into his ear and he moved a hand to rub a particularly sharp pain in his side, but stopped, sobering. Raising his head despite his back's protests, he looked down at himself as he tenderly traced a finger around the raised scar low on his left side just a little above his hip.

He never normally thought anything of the scar, but he noticed that he had developed a habit at some time or other of brushing a touch over it, or adding a hand to that hip, when his memories were caught up over her. Considering he really wasn't wearing anything, it was just a more prominent reminder.

"Well, at least you aren't damaged," she teased, continuing on without realizing his thoughts.

"Not at all," he assured, laying his head back but leaving his hand over the front half of the wound. It wasn't that he ever thought back to their duel when he noticed it. It was more like a little reminder. Like a picture or a keepsake.

She'd left her mark on him. It wasn't something he minded keeping. His shoulder still sported the smoothed, telltale scar of the bullet that grazed him when he had met up with the Maguanacs. The scars were more like his permanent war medals. He had no intentions of having them removed even though cosmetic scar removal was simple enough.

"Well, my basic purpose was to check in, so I think I've accomplished my task," she broke back into his thoughts as he realized he'd let the conversation lapse.

"I'm sorry. A little tired I guess," he covered. Dorothy was still rather touchy about the subject of her injuring him. Possibly she always would be. Quatre figured he could understand that. The one thing that did nag at him about the physical evidence still prominently displayed on him was that if she ever saw it, he wasn't sure what her reaction would be.

…Not that he exactly planned to be around her with his shirt off a lot.

"Quite alright. You've had a rough day," she teased.

With a smile he closed his eyes and pushed the rest of his thoughts away. "You actually called to make sure I was alright with everything here, didn't you?" he softly accused her, taking the initiative to be upfront with her this time.

There was a little pause before she gave him a sighed hum. "Suppose that means I'm caught."

He'd called her game. Perhaps he needed to do that more often. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm assuming since they're still beating you up that that means you're still one of the forty?"

He knew she meant well despite the bored tone of her voice. "Yes. I had a talk with Commander Sada'ul, and he didn't make it an issue at all." Remembering it all again he still felt the tightness that surrounded his heart. "That's helped a lot," he quietly admitted.

"I'm sure," she responded in kind. "So, when do I get to meet him?"

He fought not to laugh; as usual, happy about her conversation change. "You were welcome to come with us. I offered," he reminded her.

"Yes, I know. But I have several things to do before this weekend."

This weekend was Easter for her. A thought struck him for probably the tenth time and finally he found his chance at it. "Dorothy, this is probably going to sound odd coming from me," he started, licking his lips. "And I know you don't need to hear this, but… I'm proud of you."

The silence on the other end rubbed his nervousness the wrong way for a minute until she collected herself. "Proud of me?" she curiously mumbled. "For re-joining my church?"

He'd taken her completely off guard. Quatre hadn't exactly expected that, but he wasn't about to take it back. "It may not be my faith, and I'm not really saying that it makes sense, but yes. I'm proud of you for it," he fumbled. "I'm happy for you."

The pause was shorter this time. "Thank you."

A short, honest answer. He really had thrown her. With a smile, he congratulated himself for the blundered victory. "You're welcome."

"Huh," she mumbled to herself. "Well, speaking of which, I have practice in an hour and had better get ready."

"Do you need a swimming suit?" he asked.

"A what—what would I need with a swimming suit?"

Actually only a bit curious he smiled to himself. "Well, aren't they going to take you down to the river and dunk you a couple times or something?"

Mercifully for his ear she obviously pulled the phone away some as she erupted in cackling laughter. "Oh, no," she tried in vain to calm herself again. "For one thing, dear, I'm Catholic, we sprinkle not dunk," she snickered although Quatre didn't exactly get that. "And secondly, I've already been baptized. …And I don't think anyone actually 'goes down to the river' anymore," she laughed at him again.

"Oh," he mumbled, lying back and enjoying her laughter. "Then what are they doing to you?"

"Oiling me," she giggled.

Blinking he really didn't think that sounded like something anyone should do in a church. "What?"

"I get a little smudge of oil on my forehead and a slap."

Alright, now he was a little worried about this. "Excuse me?"

There was a knowing laugh and he figured he had walked into her ploy. "It's just a touch on the cheek. It's to remind me to be courageous in the faith. That's Confirmation," she said. There was a rustle in the background and he figured that she was going on with preparing whatever she needed to regardless of hanging up with him. "Do you remember asking me why I don't walk up to the front and back like everyone else?"

"Yes," he nodded, trying valiantly to remember the ritual from the couple times he'd gone with her.

"Well, I get to do that now too."

"Ah," he mumbled, not having a clue what else to say to that. "That sounds… nice."

"I'm sure it will be," Dorothy brushed it off.

"Well, please give my regards to Mr.—Fr. Rumser." With a pause, he thought that through again. "What am I actually supposed to call him?" he confidingly asked.

"Father is fine. It's a title, Master Quatre," she taunted with a chuckle.

"OK," he filed that away.

"And, considering I'm sure he'll bring you up first, I'll be sure to send the sentiment."

An impish grin lit his face, "So… has he found that marriage ceremony yet?"

* * *

"Well now, Mr. Winner. What ever did change your mind?"

"Oh, I just got to thinking about it," Quatre smiled, knowing he was lying.

"Ah, I won't argue," the man happily went on. "I'll ship out what I can as quickly as I can."

"Thank you, Stephan. I appreciate you doing this… long distance," he cringed at his own words.

"Well, I prefer to have a more personal touch with my customers, but I will always make an exception."

Quatre was doing his utmost to forget the man's "touch" with every living breath he took. "Thank you."

"Yes, yes. By the way, your tux is almost put together. I've had to redesign the vest and neckerchief, but they will be similar to the ones you tried. It seems my favorite little pin-up can't decide her feminine mind for than a week," he sighed.

"Really?" he questioned, finding that odd. Dorothy usually wasn't the type to second-guess herself over something like this. "She must have had a good reason."

"Who knows. That dear woman PMS-es more than any other I know," he grumbled.

Quatre really felt very bad for chuckling.

* * *

That man was getting too roguish for his own good. And Dorothy congratulated herself for it.

_Focus!_ her mind snapped at her. Here she was, set in the first seat of the front pew, moments from making her declaration of faith and she was daydreaming about Quatre. _God help me, that man's a distraction_, she actually prayed.

The warble of the vocalist coming loud and clear from the choir loft about got her to wince. This was not really a young parish and the choir boasted a combined three hundred years of experience. Much to their chagrin. And they all came out in full force for Easter. With her down here, and the Novess Christine beside her, they were lacking a little….

Mercifully getting past the Alleluias, Fr. Rumser continued on, and Dorothy picked at her nails absently in her lap.

He was proud of her. The comment had rolled around her head all week and it hadn't left yet. She'd come to the idea far too late, but she about smacked herself for not inviting him to come. More than likely it would have been rather awkward for him but she could have tucked him neatly in with Felecia's family for the event or something. Quatre would have come regardless, she knew he would have.

But it was too late now. Instead, she settled herself that he was proud of her.

Dorothy had never thought of something like that. She had determined to do this for herself, and she had no reservations. It was part of her promise to herself to move on with life in the best way that she could. She didn't need anyone to know, or care, or approve or not, of her decision. It was hers. And she believed it was the best for her.

But he was proud of her. For some reason… that really meant a lot to her. He didn't have to—heck, he didn't even understand it—and he certainly didn't have to tell her. But she was happy that he had. The idea of him being proud of her was… sweet.

Forcing her mind back to the events of the night, she tripped over her thoughts of Quatre three or four more times before she got called to approach the front. Puffing out a nervous breath that she berated herself for, she stood and walked up to Fr. Rumser, Christine standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder, acting as her sponsor.

Fr. Rumser began with the prayer and then took the little gold vessel of oil and gave her a wink that almost went unnoticed under the bushy eyebrows. Then he formally asked her what name she was taking.

It was her choice for a patron Saint that she would model after, and she smiled to herself easily. "Joan of Arc."

* * *

"Joan of Arc?" Quatre might not be Catholic, or even Christian, but he was well aware of that name. "That seems… appropriate," he chuckled.

"I thought so," Dorothy returned.

"So, you got oiled and slapped alright?" he teased.

"Quite," she assured.

"No bruises or black eyes?" he chuckled at her, paying her back for the number of insults she'd thrown at him before.

"Very funny," she sarcastically returned.

* * *

Humming to herself, Dorothy got out of the car and thumbed through her mail as she made her way up the flagstone walkway to the front door of her home. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside and closed it behind her before a quiet little mew told her that someone was still waiting for his lunch.

With a smile she chuckled, "Yes, yes, coming kitty." Taking her sunglasses off, she placed them on the table by the door and turned—the bills and advertisements in her hand hitting the floor as she openly stared at her living and dinning rooms.

Scattered randomly around the house were vases, all containing a single Fire and Ice rose. …Including the one that was knocked over on her coffee table, under which a suspiciously damp looking Deimos was hiding.

Dorothy blinked with a disbelieving chuckle at the sight. Setting her keys down she barely noticed that she missed the table and they ended up on the floor too. Purposefully shaking away the surprise, she huffed at herself for the reaction.

Walking over she picked up the fallen vase, gently fixing the rose and greenery and then walked into the kitchen with it. Carefully re-filling the vase, she snagged a couple dishtowels and placed the flower back on the coffee table and then sopped up the water, snagging her soggy faced cat in the process and helping to dry him off.

"That will teach you, won't it," she told him as he squirmed from her grip and jumped back to the floor to shake himself and fluff his fur back out. "You need a bath anyway, fuzz butt," she called after him as Deimos skipped off towards her office.

Alone again she wiped the table off, making sure the wood was dry before sitting there on the floor just staring comically at the rose in front of her. Again shaking off the absolute befuddled disbelief, she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed, not bothering to check the time.

It rang twice before a slightly groggy sounding voice came on. "I didn't figure I was going to get a full night's sleep tonight," Quatre answered before she heard him clear his throat.

"I think I need to start locking my door," Dorothy stated, still staring at the flower, now with more mischievousness than surprise.

"I had that possibility covered too," he stated, obviously very happy with himself.

She could fix that. "And what exactly possessed you to turn my home into a greenhouse, Mr. Winner?"

There was a telltale moment of silence that she smirked at. If her dearest, little Quatre had decided he'd found her weak spot, he was going to wish he hadn't. Dorothy Catalonia was not fond of surprises. "Um, congratulations?" it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"And one vase wouldn't have done?" she accused. "'Congratulations, I'm giving you allergies?'" she mimicked.

"No, no," he backpedaled. "I just thought it would be nice, and… do you really have allergies?"

"Not yet," she snipped.

"Well, I'd planned on a bouquet, but—since it's you—it's one of the hardest rose types for them to get and they went through an awful lot of work but only managed to get in ten, so… it was supposed to be nice," he trailed out, sounding a little heartbroken.

And her smirk rose. "Well, how _nice_," she teased.

"You don't like them…. I'm sorry," he quietly mumbled.

Letting her smile soften out, she pulled the vase over and sniffed at the perfect blossom. "I didn't say that I didn't like them."

* * *

"And he's certainly a handsome young man," she slipped in.

Dorothy tossed a look at her from the corner of her eye. "Marchioness, either that glue is getting to you, or I'm going to have to think you have a crush on my escort."

The elder woman giggled heartily to herself over that as she continued to stuff envelopes and run them through the sealing machine next to her. Elena Wayridge was as sweetly charming as any Romafeller woman could hope to be. But she also had the knack for stirring intrigue… unfortunately her only subjects of interest were marriage and family.

"No, no, not me. I'm too old and set in my ways," she hummed happily at the tease.

Dorothy chuckled at her before picking up her calligraphy pen once more and continuing on with the next name. "I'm sure that's a comfort to your dear husband."

"The poor soul. He chased after me for five years before I gave in to courting him," she reminisced to herself.

Finishing one more, she checked it off her list. "He must have known you were the one," she reasoned.

"I suppose he must have," she nodded to herself. "Although I do admit," she leaned over and lowered her voice, "it was even more fun to be caught than it was to watch him chase me."

"Marchioness," she tried to chide her with a chuckle. "You led the poor man on?"

"Oh, heavens yes," she happily nodded and went back to her envelopes. "Boys always act their best when they have a goal in mind."

Setting her pen aside for a moment Dorothy glanced at the door to ensure their dear Marquis was nowhere around. "But what if he would have gotten tired and moved on?"

The woman looked at her secretively, her dark brown eyes looking quite pleased. "Well then, I'd have to make sure he didn't get away," she winked. Both of them giggled for a moment as they turned back to their tasks. "Not all men are like that though," she reasoned. "I've just always adored the cute little clingy ones."

Breaking out laughing, Dorothy had to discard the messed up invitation envelope for an extra one.

* * *

The strains of the violin were soft, gently sweeping in a whisper of pure emotion….

And it was horribly wrong. What was he thinking?

Quatre sighed to himself and lowered the instrument again to stare down at the music sheets in front of him. He had almost eight pages of staff paper in front of him. Whole sections of it were crossed out or scribbled over. Some of it had been permanently put in ink, but they were still few and far between.

This little, _fun_ project was turning into something akin to his personal thesis paper.

How many months ago had he started this with only a tiny little melody humming through his head? When had he decided to write her an opera?

Yes, yes. Quatre had gotten to the point where he knew, and admitted to himself, that he was writing this for Dorothy. Which probably did explain why it was taking forever and being horribly stubborn.

However, it was a distraction from the hauntingly silent house these days. It was beginning to eat away at him some nights here alone since he'd gotten back from Earth. Now, as he paused, he felt it again. It was just the oppressive weight of the walls themselves. The quiet seemed eerie and unnatural for a house this size.

Pushing it from his mind, he raised the violin again and played through the beginning section by heart, overanalyzing every note.

Dorothy was going to laugh at him for this anyway. If he ever finished—and ever got the guts to play it for her—she'd think it was fine. If he told her he wrote it, she'd laugh. And if he told her he'd written it for her… he'd have to call an ambulance because she'd be laughing so hard she wouldn't be able to breathe.

Sawing randomly at the instrument at the idea he let the ill-humored frustration come out in quick, disjointed notes. Lowering it again he took another look at the sheets before slowly turning back to the violin in his hand.

With a smirk he quickly grabbed a blank piece of staff paper and tossed it on top of the pile before raising the instrument again.

There was, of course, more than one reason he loved her.

* * *

"You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover's arms can only come later when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip." - Jonathan Carroll

Edited by Spiked Jin


	45. Chapter 45

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 45

"You should have seen this place before I started," Emalia gushed as she scooted a box of data cards out of the way with her foot and slipped behind the shelving rows towards the back of the static-free storage room. "Anything from that far back is clear at the end. We started pitching even the digital copies for anything over thirty years."

Quatre followed her, trying to bite down the knot at the back of his throat. "I understand. This is a very unusual request," he tried.

"Hey, sure, what am I here for?" she shrugged. Walking down the row to the back corner she stopped and perched her hands on her hips. "This is your date range. They are organized by subject files. Assests, Expenses, Employee, so on and so forth," she waved a hand. "What is it you need?"

Purposefully not meeting her expression he took a quick look through the shelves of neat, thin plastic covers for the memory cards. "Health records."

"Ah, easy," she happily stated, standing on her toes and reaching towards the top shelf. "Part of the Employee files, which are nice because they all fit on one card per year." Stepping along she ran a finger over the covers until she stopped and pulled one out. "AC 180. How far before that?"

Taking the little card offered to him over her shoulder, he looked up as well, doing the math in his head. "As far as you have."

* * *

The card reader slowly opened the compressed storage files into a coherently readable list. Pulling up the active personnel folders Quatre moved to the company paid health insurance records. Searching through the thousands of employee names he found the one he was looking for and brought up the twelve-month premium sheets, complete with dependent listings. He continued down the monthly totals to September and found the dependency change notes. Two of them.

Opening the first note, it read exactly as he expected it to. "Added one dependent, Quatre R. Winner, born September 14, 180."

Going back, he found the second note and hesitated but finally clicked it open. The file also held no surprises to him anymore. "Removed one dependent, Quaterine A. Winner, died September 14, 180."

Quatre leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed at his dry eyes. For the past three nights he'd been scouring through these exact files, mapping out the neatly placed birthdates of his sisters, and finally himself. And now he had convincing evidence, other than his sisters' memories, that his mother had indeed died in childbirth.

Basically all he had really gained from taking these records from the company history files was background and a place to start. He had the insurance company names, not that they probably even had individual customer files back as far as he needed, even if he were able to get to them.

Closing the program, he reached over and ejected the data card, adding it carefully back to its case. He would slip in and return these tomorrow. They were of no further use that he could think of. Any other pieces of information that he could gleam would have to come from his father's office storage closest… straight down the hall in the opposite wing of the house.

It just didn't feel right. He couldn't make it feel right.

Of course it wasn't right. Nothing about the whole situation was right, and nothing he could ever find would change that. Quatre again questioned the point of all of this, but something in him didn't want to give up yet.

He owed it to himself to explore as much as he could of the childhood he didn't realize he should have had.

Closing down the program, he scooted back from his desk before music came blaring through the speakers again. A badly synthesized rendition of the "Wedding March" nearly scared him half to death for the fifth time.

Sighing miserably, he stood and found the cord for the speakers which were embedded in the monitor and yanked it out, silencing the stupid tune. Plopping himself back down in the chair, he gave the desktop and the rows of dancing hearts an annoyed glare until he finally couldn't help but crack a smile and chuckle at it.

The little, amateur virus program had been conveniently reinstalled on his home computer each time he removed it, and it popped up randomly at odd times when he closed programs back to the desktop. The virus, suspiciously signed by the "Fezzes Love Connection," was completely harmless aside from its ability to make him jump out of his skin.

And it was actually kind of cute… now that he'd gotten over being mortified by it.

His desktop image was now set to show a snapshot image of him and Dorothy from the last time they were at the chateau. It did seem like a rather appropriate pose as he was depicted giving an annoyed expression to her ploy at an innocent look, the two standing quite close as she stood at his side.

The first time he disabled the code and trashed the program he didn't have the heart to discard the picture too and tucked it away in an obscure folder instead. He found it a bit odd that in two years it was the only one he had of the two of them.

He really didn't have any problem with the guys teasingly changing his background to some harmless image. It was the blaring music and raining hearts that showered down the screen that got to him. In order to get back to his own programs he had a window with two options. The box read simply: "I Love Dorothy" and his choices were "yes" or "no."

Answering no the first time had taken him through some of the most absurd questions and taunting remarks he had ever heard of for the next five minutes before he was allowed back to his own programs. Answering yes got him a giant sign that read "We Knew It" and let him right on through.

He needed to make sure he wasn't paying these guys overtime on the stations. They obviously didn't have enough to do as it was.

Clicking yes, he got his little message and then closed down the computer. He'd deal with removing it again later. Maybe if he left it on they wouldn't think of anything new.

Pushing his mind back to his self-appointed task he left the office and wandered the dark halls of the sleeping manor. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, he realized that wasn't true. The whole danged mansion and he was the only one it… and he wasn't sleeping.

Fighting the shiver that crawled along his back he pushed forward through the shadows thrown by the central hallway light and the arched windows over the entryway. _Just me and my ghosts_, he thought bleakly.

Figuring he knew exactly what Dorothy had been thinking when she wanted to redesign her ancestral home, Quatre slowly passed down the hall without making a sound. Getting to the central area of the manor he stopped again, looking down the stairway towards the second floor. Although not as grand as the entryway's stairs, they were wide and open.

Quietly, he took in the pale cream walls that looked gray in the nighttime lighting, the red of the stairs' carpet, and the wood-work on the open banister that probably cost a fortune to get on Colony at the time this place was built. Turning around in a slow circle, he took in the paitings on the walls behind the railing, the runner of a rug down the hall, the molding against the high ceilings….

It was like seeing it all for the first time. There was a sense of déjà vu, but nothing more. It was quiet and huge and lavish and… someone else's.

Fighting his own thoughts he turned again to the stairs and forced himself to think. Think of a memory…. Nothing.

Turning over his shoulder, he stared back down the hallway towards his room through the shadows, and past the rows of closed doors. The only memories that came back from that direction were the echoes of a slamming door.

Turning the other way, he watched the identical hallway but with far more foreboding. His memories there said nothing, but the image of those same shadows stared back at him through his own eyes. How often had he paused in this same spot and cast a look down the darkened hall towards his father's room? How many times had he come in from a training run that his own father knew nothing about?

The light. That he remembered. He remembered he would see a light from under the crack of the door, a sliver right along the floorboards.

Floating slowly along, he drifted towards the end of the wing as though drawn. Automatically his feet skipped over the loose floorboard just past the railing of the stairs and then drifted left to avoid the creak that would sound if you hit the middle of the patch about four feet in. His feet silent, he moved as though trying not to trip an alarm.

There was the patch on the wall where the wallpaper didn't exactly line up, although no one but him probably ever noticed that. Then there was the hallway table that hadn't been moved, or even used, in more than his lifetime. The vase on its corner was different though….

Pausing in front of it, he passed a hand over the ornate decoration that was a similar design to the one he had knocked over and shattered chasing after the maid Rebecca who had promised to take him with her to run errands if he'd hurry up. He'd probably been only five or six, he guessed. He didn't remember why he was so thrilled with the idea, but he did remember "Miss Becca" as he called her.

The sweet girl was only part time, just a high school girl back then probably. Wavy blond hair around a chubby face, her freckles and dimples always making her look happy. Or maybe he just always remembered her that way. Idly, he wondered where she had gone.

Quatre also remembered the broken vase. So young he must have had a different view of things because he had been so afraid that he was going to get the young maid in trouble for the damage he'd caused. He'd gone immediately to try to pick up the pieces, trying to find a way to put the hundred fragments back together.

"_Quatre!" Rebecca nearly screamed. "Don't touch that."_

_Snatching his hand she pulled him bodily away from the mess. "I'll fix it!" he tried to tell her, but she was too strong and hauled him away. He was scared. He didn't mean to bump into the table, didn't mean to break it. He didn't want her to yell at him. Didn't want Daddy to yell at him. Didn't want her in trouble too._

"_Oh, precious," she bent down and hugged him tightly for a second. "It'll be OK. But you'll hurt yourself. You let me clean this up," she reasoned far more softly now._

"_Quatre? Miss Rebecca?" They both turned to watch his father coming quickly up the stairs, obviously worried. "What happened?"_

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Winner," Rebecca began, still holding his hand. "We knocked over the vase and—"_

"_It's my fault!" he cut in, pushing towards his father. "I did it. I'm sorry," he admitted, close to tears._

"_Are you hurt?" he asked, dropping to a knee and scooping him up._

_He vigorously shook his head back and forth, holding onto a piece of his father's vest._

"_I'm so sorry, Sir," Rebecca said again. "It was an accident. He was chasing me and—and I shouldn't have been running, Sir."_

"_I bumped the table," Quatre stated clearly. "It's not Miss Becca's fault."_

"_It's alright. I know you didn't mean to." Getting set down again Quatre looked up to watch his father rise back to his feet, as passive as always, and Quatre stared with a bit of amazement at him. That changed when the elder man turned again past him. "Miss Rebecca!"_

_Quatre turned to see the maid on her knees by the vase, picking up the pieces. Startled by the shout from her employer she snapped her attention back up before a gasp of pain made her drop the handful of crystal shards._

"_Miss Rebecca?" his father quickly questioned, rushing to her and picking her back up to her feet by her shoulders, reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry, but don't touch it—Miss?"_

_Quatre stood shocked still as he watched a drop of red drip from Miss Becca's hand onto the pile of broken glass._

_His father whispered something under his breath that he didn't catch through his wide-eyed shock at seeing another drop, and then another, come from their hands. "Quatre, get a washcloth from the guestroom behind you," his father said and nodded in the other direction._

_But he didn't move. By the forth or fifth drop he realized what it was and stood rooted in sheer horror._

"_Quatre!" his father snapped, shaking him out of his sense of terror. "A washcloth, son, quickly."_

_Turning immediately he ran for the nearest door and flung it open, racing to the bathroom. Opening the vanity doors he pulled out a bath towel but then remembered the instruction for a washcloth and dug for one of those instead. Coming up with one he tripped over the towel he'd discarded but raced from the room again._

_His father was next to the open door, one hand still under Miss Becca's and his other arm around her shoulders as she bit at her bottom lip. Blood still dripped from their folded hands as Quatre handed the cloth to his father and stood, staring up at them as the white cloth was wrapped around one of Rebecca's fingers._

_Quatre jumped—frightened at the squeak of pain that came from her as his father's hand moved around her cloth-covered finger. "I have to," he quietly told her. "I have to stop it now."_

Snapping his hand away from the crystal vase that now accented the table, Quatre took a step back from it. The memory was still cuttingly clear even though it hadn't passed his thoughts in years. It held with it the remembered panic and terror that few of his worst memories possessed.

Turning purposefully now, he swiftly walked down the hall to the office in the center of the wing, ignoring the two doors at the end, still hidden in shadows. His father's at the end, and his childhood room's on the right.

He'd asked for that. Trying to remember things. What did he expect? What was the last good memory he had trapped in these walls?

Entering the office he flipped on the light and closed the door behind him as though running from his own head.

That wasn't fair. He just wasn't thinking right tonight. He couldn't blame himself. Since the moment he had walked back through the doors after coming home from Earth he had been sucked into the same feelings of losing his parents again.

It was better. It was easier to deal with the idea that he was naturally born at least. And his conscience was grudgingly giving him a small bit of comfort from Dorothy's words to him. But he still didn't know. All the pretty words and images were just that if he couldn't validate something. Anything.

Leaning back against the door for a moment he squeezed his eyes shut. _Just something, please._

Sucking down a deep breath, Quatre moved from the door and shook himself out of his thoughts. No more of this. Scanning the bookshelves lining the room he found a small stereo in the corner and walked over to flip it on. Getting some odd instrumental mellody he couldn't place he left it. Walking behind the desk to the wall, he flipped off the security sensors to the windows and opened them both, a slight noise of traffic on the main road a couple blocks away drifting in.

Better. Turning back to the room he eyed it all curiously. _Well Father, let's see how often you cleaned_.

Knowing that the desk was basically empty from when his sisters had helped him look for anything relating to the company, he ignored it and moved to the closet door instead. Opening it, he stared at a collection of boxes and shelves and binders, and wasn't sure he would be making sense out of any of these for weeks.

"And I thought your cabinet at work was bad," he mumbled.

Quatre stopped and mentally re-evaluated that. He realized that he had somehow started randomly talking to his dead parents… sometimes out loud.

Considering his past, he worried about his mental health probably more than the average person did, he was sure. This wasn't exactly helping any of those feelings, but at the same time he was becoming fairly certain that it wasn't doing any damage to him either. Figuring he was just making up for the lack of conversation while they were alive, he shrugged it off again.

They. He was getting far more used to that too. His mother was somehow becoming a real figure to him, not just a name with no association.

Beginning with the first box that was trying to fall out of the closet, he pulled it free and moved it back to the desk to open it.

His mother. Why had he never really stopped to think long and hard about his mother? That seemed terrible to him. There was no time that he could remember asking about her. He didn't even remember his father volunteering anything about her. Quatre couldn't even remember someone saying that he looked like her, or that they missed her, or anything.

The one comment he had ever overheard had been from the perverted accounting auditor that he'd taken great pleasure in firing months ago. And the only reason his mother had been brought up then was because of Dorothy….

Shuffling through papers and reciepts, he paused to think back for a second. _"__Quaterine was usually considered a hot blond in her day too."_ Supposedly a person tended to fall for someone who reminds them of their parents, right? But he didn't know enough about her traits or habits to believe that he was somehow channeling his mother's qualities on top of Dorothy's.

Finding it odd, he wondered if they would have gotten along. _Mother, this is Lady Dorothy Catalonia…._ For some reason it was absolutely impossibly for him to imagine that. _Father, this is_—forget it. Why would his choice in women be any different to his father than anything else he'd ever done?

Now, that wasn't fair.

Hissing a sigh out in pure frustration at his own mind, he pushed back into sorting through the box. One problem at a time.

Finding nothing of any usefulness—unless he wanted to know when the last time the garbage disposal had been replaced—he closed the box lid, dropped it to the floor and kicked it off to the side next to the closet. He'd rearrange this all later too.

Now, which one of his parents had given him the complusively neat gene? Looking back into the closet Quatre figured he had a pretty good idea it wasn't his father.

The next box contained items like warranty cards and instruction manuals, some of which dated back to things that he wasn't sure his father would have been born before. Figuring out a couple things, he laid them aside as actually useful and began a stack quickly labeled with sticky-notes.

He went on like that as he traveled through the front pile of boxes, not realizing that time was actually ticking by until the station he had been absently listening to announced the time and station ID. A bit startled, he turned to it, finding its clock reading the same twelve am. He'd been in here for hours already.

Well, if he was on a roll he might as well stick with it. Tomorrow was Saturday and he had no need to go into the office.

Finished with the extra boxes, he moved to the shelves and began methodically hauling out things that had no business being stuffed in an office closet in the first place. A puzzle box that had never been unwrapped, a stack of dish towels, a light fixture that had obviously been used as parts to fix something else, a folder of the company's year-end balances from AC 172—which had apparently been a very bad year—a couple bottles of bright pink nail polish, a couple photo albums… and a scrapbook….

Why hadn't he ever thought of looking for a photo album or something before? They were set on the middle shelf, just at the side of the door, looking a little dusty. Knocking over a file folder that had been propped up between them and the wall, he pulled the three books out, wondering if he should dare.

Deciding that right now might not be the best time for the books, he carefully carried them over to the desk and tenderly set them down on the corner out of the way of the rest of the mess he was making. Not tonight. He wasn't ready for that yet.

Running a gentle hand over the cover of the top one, he backed away and returned to the closet. Stepping back in, he roved an eye around the rest of the items before noticing the folder laying in the spot the books had been. Picking it up he opened the cover, expecting another company finance sheet….

His own picture looked back at him. A photo of his back actually, as he stood beside Instructor H. in the hanger facility that…. In the background was the bulk of Sandrock, nearly completed, still hanging from the building harness.

White hot terror streaked through him as his heart imploded in on itself. Ruffling through the rest of the file he saw blueprints—the earliest versions of the suit before the revisions during the building process. More pictures from the same time-frame stared back at him. Sheets with his battle progress scores, logs that plotted his training times. Every piece of cold, damning evidence stared up at him.

And the last item in the back was the message that Instructor H. had told him to ignore, the communication that had come in just before he was launched in Sandrock for Earth. In black and white hard copy were the words to the original Operation Meteor.

…Just in front of that was the note. A short, four line, note in his own handwriting.

_War brings sorrow....  
But we must fight to  
protect our loved ones  
from that sorrow...._

He dropped it. Let the whole thing slip through his fingers and hit the floor of the cramped little closet as he stumbled back from it.

Had he believed that last communication? Did his father honestly think that he had gone to follow through with those orders? When did he get that information? It had to have been afterwards. He'd put that note on the very desk in this room the day he left.

Maybe his father had found it all afterwards. Had he demanded his way onto the abadoned resource station that he and Insturtor H. were using to build Sandrock when his son was missing for a day or two? And he would have found….

Balling his hands into his chest Quatre buckled to his knees, the pain of the thought tearing into him. "Father," he whispered.

* * *

Only a couple months after he had met up with the Maguanacs, Instrustor H. had indeed ended up on his doorstep. Coming to talk with his father, Quatre had listened in on their conversation enough to hear the scientist talk about his desire to build a weapon that could defend the Colonies when it came to all out war.

His father had refused to sponsor such a weapon. It was not only against his personal beliefs, but he had assured the man that there were talks opening between the Colonies and Earth, and that there would be no need for such a weapon.

Quatre knew he was wrong. He could feel it. He'd heard it. After that first battle in Rasid's Maguanac mobile suit, he'd heard the crying of Space as the injustices and bloodshed grew. After he had seen what the prisoners on the MO-III satellite had been through waiting for someone to realize they were being held captive. It was something he could never fully explain, but he _felt_ the coming war.

He knew it was coming, and if he was acceptable, he wanted to be the one to take it away.

Quatre had met Instructor H. at the door before he left and told him about a small, abadoned resource station that would not attract anyone's attention if he were to build his suit there. The kindly scientist saw something in him at that moment because he accepted both the hiding place, and him.

So, he hid Instructor H., finding and providing whatever support he could under the guise of running earends for the company. Between the amount of time his father was away and his excuses, it probably didn't raise too much suspicion.

Two years later, they were finished and the Barton Foundation had made—and lost—their plans to drop a colony onto Earth to begin Operation Meteor. None of them had followed through with the words that were on that piece of paper. The teams assigned to assist with the process had been eliminated early. The colony that was supposed to have been dropped self-destructed instead.

Just as random as they ever were, they had royally screwed over what was expected from the five of them.

_War brings sorrow....  
But we must fight to  
protect our loved ones  
from that sorrow...._

Quatre could have written pages, a whole book probably. He could have written out each time he felt less than what he was supposed to be, each time he stood ashamed—embarrassed that he wasn't enough. He could have wasted ink trying to tell the one person he loved the most what he had to do.

He didn't write, "I love you," or "Forgive me." Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have made it more obvious. Maybe they both should have been more honest.

He sat on the ground on the back patio and stared into the tiny flames in the decorative fire-pit, watching the blueprints turn black and smoke. They were the originals, the ones that Instructor H. had originally come to him with. It meant that his father had kept them. Why, he wasn't sure.

Would he have eventually changed his mind that it was necessary? Quatre didn't believe so, but he was no longer sure about anything. His father had eventually struck out with as much force as he had available at the absolute last second. It had cost him his life, but his father had set the effort of OZ's militerization back at least a couple months by distroying the resource block.

His father had told him he was running away. That he wasn't fighting. But he was.

Quatre understood that. He'd been trying to convince his son to give up the dangerous fight that he had never agreed with, even with his dying breath.

Watching the flame die down, he tossed in the sheets of his battle scores and data. They were nothing to him now. He'd trained hard for those numbers and they had saved his life and kept him fighting, but they held no meaning now. With everything gone….

He shouldn't think like that. He tried not to. Quatre tried not to miss Sandrock, but he still did from time to time. That had been a home to him.

One after another he tossed in the photos taken from the security camera. It must have been the only time frame his father could access because they were all the same week or so. Instructor H. must not have gotten everything erased by the time his father had shown up. How he had tracked this down, Quatre wasn't sure. But he knew the man had his ways.

The note would have put him quickly on the search. It had been a gamble, and probably a stupid chance, but he had to leave something. Quatre knew. He knew he was turning his back on his family. He knew his father would never forgive him for it….

But maybe he had. He'd kept it, had obviously gone through a lot of work to know and understand what he'd done. Maybe his father knew him better than Quatre thought he did.

For the last time, Quatre re-read his own words by the dim fire-light and then gently touched one corner of the paper to the flame, letting it devour it in his fingers until the last moment.

The flames ate themselves slowly down to nothing but a puff of smoke as their fuel finally ran out. The morning lights of the colony were just beginning to warm up.

* * *

"Mr. Winner, you do know that we'll let you go home, don't you?" Mrs. Shanelle asked as she peaked around the corner and into his office.

Flashing her a smile, Quatre nodded. "I do go home, Ma'am. I have to change clothes," he teased her warmly for the show of affection.

Walking in, the elder woman shook her head back and forth. "I used to accuse your father of needing an extra office for his cot and closet. I don't want to start doing the same with you," she sternly walked over and poked him in the shoulder a couple times. "If you're here before me tomorrow too I'll tell on you," she threatened.

Quatre chuckled but blinked up at her. "And who are you going to tell?"

With a haughty sniff she turned and left for the door. "Lady Dorothy for starters."

"Oh," he mumbled with a cringe. "Um… did I mention I was leaving early today?" he tried.

"I may hold you to that," she tossed back as she left the room for her own office.

With a smile he turned back to the papers but sighed and quietly realized that she was right. He was throwing himself into things that he really didn't need to do. It just felt better to be here doing something instead of at home… thinking.

In the past week he had cleaned out his father's office, keeping the items he had actually been looking for that night, and still unable to look at them. Along with that he'd finished the remainder of the bedroom items, and had even ventured into his own childhood bedroom. Most of anything there was from when he was ten or younger, but he hadn't exactly taken it to the trash collection yet. None of it had been moved.

He was a little broken at the moment and was still trying to deal with it all. Even when he was alone in this building, early or late, it wasn't the same as being alone at the manor.

He wondered again just how much like his father he truly was….

"Quatre."

He looked up from staring incoherently at the sheets in front of him to find his District Supervisor standing in the doorframe. "Justin, come in," he smiled openly for the long-time friend of the family, but the man didn't move.

Instead he shook his head, Quatre only then catching the troubled expression to his eyes. "We have a problem, Sir."

* * *

"We're going to need to make a statement."

"I don't even know what the problem is yet," Quatre addressed one of the promotional department's people.

"Mr. Winner, none of this makes sense," Justin Mathews shook his head. The poor man was at wit's end and he wasn't the only one.

The group surrounding the boardroom table was throwing things back and forth at each other far too fast for Quatre to keep up. "That's the only part that I agree with," he nodded to the other. "Do we have anyone we can talk to yet?"

"I can't find them," he threw up his hands.

"News reports just keep saying that they are demanding equal access to the same safety measures as the other clusters," someone else tossed another piece of paper onto the table.

"They do," Quatre shook his head, not understanding again. "Or they should," he thought through that again and tossed a look back to the District Supervisor. "Why didn't they come to us? Why is the first time I hear about this because there are picket lines outside of three of our stations?" he turned towards the rest of the room. Although he didn't raise his voice everyone stopped for a second to look back at him. "Please, did anyone know about this?" he looked around. "Do we have anything filed for a complaint from the union?"

No one offered him anything but blank looks and shrugs between themselves.

Puffing out a sigh, he shook his head to think through this. "Mrs. Shanelle?"

"Yes, Sir," she piped up from her perpetual spot at his elbow.

"Please find me a way to speak with one of the ranking union members for L1. If I have to call them back, that's fine."

"Yes, Sir."

"I've tried that," his friend put in. "No answer. They're all… holding signs or something," he muttered.

Quatre winced at the idea. "Then please try to find a ranking member from the general union," he tried instead.

"Yes, Sir."

Justin shook his head, his arms crossed in front of him as he stood staring at the piles of media reports. "Someone knows something they aren't telling. These people didn't organize like this this morning. This has mounted for some time," he analyzed.

"Then we need to know who has been covering," Quatre agreed.

"Mr. Winner."

He turned to see that Mrs. Shanelle hadn't made it completely out the door yet. "Yes?"

With a sorrowful sigh she shook her head. "Reporters, Sir."

Once again the room's din died down as every eye ended up on him. Taking a quick look around, he set himself and returned her gaze. "Tell them we will only give a statement when we have all the facts available to us. Nothing else leaves this building," he added to the rest of those gathered.

It was too much to ask, and he knew it.

* * *

"Mr. Winner, it's Maurice from Human Resources. I may have something to help you, Sir."

Quatre finally turned his full attention to the phone against his ear. "I'd be thankful if anyone did," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "What is it, Miss Maurice?"

"Something clicked when I heard the L1 stations and safety concerns. I have a problem with the new work orders we received a couple weeks ago but hadn't thought anything of it, Sir. Even though we scheduled the man-hours, I've been told that the projects for this quarter had been canceled. That included the L1 and L5 upgrade schedules."

It took a moment for him to figure out what she was talking about. "The resource station repair schedule? The upgrades we've been doing. There are four different projects we're still on."

"That's just it, Sir, I can't find any new work orders to replace the ones we talked about last month."

Quatre paused, fitting this all into place. "You're telling me that those four projects were brought to you as canceled?"

"…Yes, Sir," she hesitantly replied.

"By whom?" he rose carefully to his feet, leaning over the desk as he listened for her response.

"…I'm not sure, Sir."

"Miss Maurice, I made no decision to cancel those projects. I already have the team moving back into place and half of the supplies are already at the sites," he emphasized. If the workers on the resource stations believed that the repairs and upgrades were cancelled for them and not the other clusters…. "Whoever canceled those work orders was incorrect."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't… realize that," she replied, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

He stood, more than just displeased with the news. If he found out that he had been undermined and that this was the result…. "Miss Maurice, I need you to find out for me who authorized the cancellation. I would like to know personally."

"Yes, Sir. I will get that for you."

"Thank you very much," he stated, hanging up. The poor woman was probably a little fearful for her job for not having said something before. But she didn't know. It wasn't her task to double check every change made to an employee base of a few thousand people.

But finally he had a piece of information that made sense. With no one who could give him anything better at the moment, he was left completely in the dark as to why all of a sudden the three L1 stations were unmanned and un-operating. The strikes were obviously premeditated and well thought out. Someone had completely fallen through the cracks.

Piecing all of this in place, he paced around his office, lost in thought. Quatre was at a complete loss for what to do. He had no idea how to battle something like this on such a public and press-covered stage. The front doors were all but blockaded off from the number of reporters attempting to get a reaction from the corporate office.

He didn't know how to react to the press like this. And he couldn't find a single way to help the people on strike against them. …His people.

_Father, what would you do?_ It had been going through his head like a prayer for the past two hours. So far it had done him little good. He would have known what to do, or at least where to start. He was far more diplomatic than even Quatre was. His realm was around the boardroom table and documented correspondence.

Quatre wasn't that versed with it yet. His skills lay in face to face discussions. People. It was killing him that there was no one he could actually speak to. He didn't have time to wait for everyone to get back to him with this or that. There were too many things in the way between himself and the problem.

These people weren't aware that it was merely a mistake. Something had set this off. It wasn't just a one issue problem.

He just needed… just wanted…..

Quatre stopped, his eyes catching on the painting hanging between his bookcases. The sweeping dunes of sand washing against the pillar of sandstone….

Sandrock.

"I'm not my father," he mumbled out loud.

Turning he took one step, but then hesitated. Taking a deep breath he cast the office a quick look and then calmly walked around to his chair again, picked up his suit jacket, put it on, and collected the data pad he'd been using for notes.

He left the office, pausing at the next doorway in the hall. "Mrs. Shanelle, any luck?" he asked her.

"No, Sir," she looked up at him a little worried.

Giving her a reassuring smile, he nodded. "I will be leaving early today after all. If you get a hold of anyone, please give them my satellite number."

"Uh… yes, Sir." As he turned to leave she called after him, "Where are you going?"

"To L1 of course," he called back. "I'm going to see someone about the safety systems."

"Now?" she squeaked, coming to her door to look after him.

Pausing, he nodded, "Can you think of a better time?"

"Yes!"

Quatre turned the other way to see Miss Emalia wide-eyed and standing with his other two receptionists. "Why is that?" he asked.

"These people are scary," she mumbled. "…And angry," Emalia quietly reasoned, her hands clutched together in front of her. "You can't go there now."

He blinked at her a second before he tried very hard to bite back the laugh. Walking forward he couldn't help his smile at the obvious concern. "I'm not going alone, Miss Emalia," he soothed, reaching around her shoulders to give her a little sideways hug. "They aren't going to attack anyone. We just need to have a talk." Releasing her, he flashed a smile at the other girls as well. "Hold the line, ladies," he instructed before continuing out the door.

Walking quickly down the hall to what he was mentally referring to as the war room, Quatre kept the little warm feeling of that concern with him. But he knew where he was needed, and he was always one to take the option to be in the thick of things. He had never appreciated the sidelines.

Entering the room, he stepped up to Justin's side and took a glance at the tossed piles of reports. The man unburied himself from thought and regarded him as Quatre mentally evaluated everyone else in the room. "Mr. Mathews, go home and pack a bag," he stated, turning back to him. "We leave for L1 in an hour."

If the man was surprised, he didn't show it, breaking a little smile instead. "'Bout time."

Turning around he found his CEO as the woman obviously overheard his announcement. "It will take us approximately four hours to reach the first L1 station. We're getting the most vocal objections from there and that is where I plan to start. You're going to have to handle most of the problems here on your own."

"This place is going to be quiet compared to there," she replied.

"Hopefully we can keep it that way," Justin stated. "The fallout is all going to come through here. The press always wants people to panic."

"Please keep an eye on L5 too. We can't afford those six to go down as well," Quatre told her.

"L5?" she blinked. "What's wrong with L5?"

"The same mistake," he answered. "I'll send you what I have when we're en-route." He turned for the door again, intent on getting started.

"Wait," she called him back. "Do we tell the press you're going?"

"It could be a good way to ease the tension some," Justin reasoned.

Shaking his head, Quatre didn't like the idea. "No. They'll know as soon as we get there anyway. It gives us a few more hours."

The two shrugged to each other but didn't refute him. Leaving, he headed for the elevators, Justin on his heels. "How long do you expect this to take?"

"Pack for a couple days. Your daughter has a graduation this weekend. You need to be back," Quatre responded, feeling better with this decision with every step he took.

"How do you remember these things?" the other snorted at him.

"People," he quietly returned. "I remember people."

"Quatre!"

He stopped and turned back to find his director, Mr. Sheel, coming down the hall towards him. The man looked irate, his face red and he was puffing, a little out of breath.

"Guess that answers my question of what this is doing to our stocks," Justin muttered from beside him.

"Please go on, Justin. I'll meet you at the space port," he waved his friend on.

"Mr. Winner?" he uncertainly returned, looking back at the approaching director.

"This won't take long," he met his eyes.

The supervisor was one of the only people in the company who knew what he had actually done during the war. The man had been on board when they were taken by the Maguanacs all those years ago, and had randomly ended up by his side since then. And he obviously saw the look he was giving him. "Yip." Turning, he walked off ahead of him.

Turning back to the approaching man, Quatre didn't back down the gut instinct. "Mr. Sheel, if you have something to add you may call my phone in about an hour. I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry."

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" the other stopped in front of him. "You're not a negotiator. You're going to walk into these peoples' hands."

"Exactly," he reasoned. "I can't do anything from here. This is an obvious mistake, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

"We've already dropped eighteen points this morning. You're just going to make it worse," he growled.

Narrowing his eyes, Quatre calmed himself a second. "Mr. Sheel, this is a mistake. The workers believe that our safety upgrades for their stations were cancelled," he heavily stated, watching the man's angry reaction. "I am going to personally assure them that are _not_."

The man, if possible, came completely unglued. "Do you see what those damned projects of yours have come to!" he shouted.

He waited purposefully for the man to stop flailing his arms before he quietly responded. "So much for your idea that there were no major complaints."

_

* * *

_

Beep

.

Her stock-tracker program kept highlighting the same line of her portfolio that had dropped below her normal sell point. Still Dorothy sat at her desk, munching popcorn like she was watching a movie. The television over the mantle on the far wall showed a running news ticker at the bottom, the newscast going back now and again to the striking workers outside of Winner Mining's three L1 resource stations.

Just in case, her phone was set on the desk in front of her, but she wasn't exactly expecting a call. Her poor, dear corporate president would have his hands full.

Bored with the lack of developments, she kept the ticker at the bottom of the screen and flipped the channel to something else.

_Beep_.

Looking at the declining numbers in question she gave the screen a smirk. "Ye of little faith," she hummed to herself, popping another kernel into her mouth

* * *

"At L1, Winner Mining resource station 1, talks have been proceeding all evening. The surprise came most of four hours ago when Winner Enterprises president Quatre Raberba Winner arrived on station, stunning the striking workers. Mr. Winner and a small staff from the company's corporate office, as well as representing members from the L4 stations arrived candidly to speak with protestors. Making no official statement, the group entered the operations building and asked for a handful of representatives from these workers still behind me to begin official talks. No word has been release as to how those negotiations are progressing."

* * *

The general manager was sweating profusely underneath his dress shirt at the end of the table. Arriving on station, he was the first person they had sought out. It had turned out to be a waste of time listening to the man at all. His lies were running in circles and Quatre had had enough of his excuses interrupting what the representatives of the union around him were trying to say.

It had taken a while before the tempers of those in the room had calmed down enough for him to really take anything said literally, but he was sure of a couple things by now, and he was finished with the stuttering blunder of a manger. "Thank you, Sir. If you wouldn't mind, I think I would like to speak with the others alone now. You may go home. It's getting late and I will call you tomorrow."

The man visibly swallowed. "But… uh," he nervously looked around at the others who were happily anticipating his removal from the room.

"You've told me your side, I must allow the same courtesy," Quatre reminded him, already regretting the hour he had allowed the man to spew a number of—now blatantly obvious—lies to him.

"Yes, Sir," he quietly mumbled and stood to leave the room, looking quite pale.

As soon as he stepped out the door, the workers present broke derogatory comments and congratulations at showing the man's true colors.

Justin leaned over to whisper to him. "I hired that man," he seemed to apologize. "Do I get to fire him?"

Trying not to break a smile at the prospect, Quatre shook his head. "Not yet." He caught the other man's eye as he curiously looked back at him. "Our first priority is getting these people back to work."

_

* * *

_

Beep

.

"Finally," she mumbled to the screen before quickly pressing in her commands and clicking the "Buy" link

* * *

"The entrance to the space dock behind me, like the other two stations, is deserted this morning. Workers were told to go home last night and they have not been called back to the line yet today. However, they also have not returned to work either. We still have no official statement from either side, but are awaiting the joint press conference promised to us by the corporate office back in L4. That would imply, to me at least, that some type of arrangement has been reached. We will see soon what that means for workers and stockholders."

* * *

"Camera shy, Master Quatre?" Auda teased him as he smoothed his suit jacket for the twentieth time.

"That obvious?" he asked, with an embarrassed smile.

"Hey, the hard part's done," he shrugged at him.

With a nod, Quatre reminded himself of that too, casting a glance at the union officer who would be speaking after him. "Thank you for tagging along. I do think it helped to have more than just my word that we are planning on doing the same thing for this cluster." Auda and Rasid both nodded, rather content with their role in the whole thing.

They were also two of the more… intimidating individuals of the team. And Quatre was pretty sure that it was no accident that they were the two who volunteered for the job. Miss Emalia apparently wasn't the only one concerned for his bodily safety, although he couldn't figure out why.

Chalking it up to overly concerned friends he sucked his breath in again before he decided that the room of reporters was growing restless. "Gentlemen, lady, are we ready?" he asked the group who had negotiated with him.

They nodded their consent and he flashed them a smile, feeling quite proud of the majority of the employees they had.

Walking out, he led the way to the makeshift podium at the front of the room, the press quickly moving into position. "Good afternoon," he greeted them, ignoring the questions already flying in. "This conference will be two-part. I am Quatre Raberba Winner, president of Winner Enterprises, and I will have a formal statement. I will then turn the podium over to L1 regional union officer Malcom Snope who will be speaking on behalf of all three of the L1 mining stations."

The crowd settled, obviously afraid they were going to miss something otherwise.

_How does Relena do this all the time?_ he added to himself to settle his nerves. With a quick glance to his side to make sure the rest of the negotiation team was present he glanced at the scribbled notes and continued on. "I would like to begin by stating that an agreement has been reached between management and the staff of the L1 stations. Work will resume as usual Monday morning."

A general flurry of action from the crowd denoted that he'd just said the most important thing that these people were interested in. He supposed that was true.

"During the course of these talks, several things have come to my attention and to the attention of the District Supervisor, Mr. Justin Mathews," he nodded towards the corner the man was standing in beside the union members. "As such, General Manager, Preston Orion has been relieved of his position due to dereliction of duty and improper conduct. A company investigation is continuing into Mr. Orion's conduct over the past several months. The failure to report to his superiors is one of the factors that contributed to the L1 workers' need to take on the action of this strike. His position will be filled through normal human resource protocol. Following this, a number of immediate management positions, which were directly under Mr. Orion will also need to be re-established."

And the easiest thing that he conceded to in the negotiations was to terminate the man immediately. Justin had been more than pleased to do so personally, apologizing for ever thinking the man competent.

"The largest reason for the actions taken by the union workers was to ask for the same upgrades to the space dock's facilities that we have been systematically making on each resource station in all clusters. A company investigation had already begun, and is continuing, into the rumor that such upgrades were to be discontinued before reaching the L1 and L5 stations. A legitimate and prominent concern for the company as a whole is the safety of our workers in every aspect of this industry. We will continue to make safety and effectiveness our highest priorities."

Giving the others a glance he looked out to the crowd of reporters again. "I have had the pleasure of working with these union representatives beside me, and believe that any future concerns will be competently handled with the care that they deserve. With that said, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Snope and allow the union to address the press as well. Thank you."

Stepping aside, the man purposefully caught him to shake hands and Quatre returned a smile for the gesture before the other moved to the podium. And Quatre stood and watched the officer confirm what he'd just said, adding a number of nice comments about himself and the staff that came to assist them, something he certainly didn't have to do.

* * *

"Masterful," she whispered.

Dorothy stood in front of the television, her arms crossed in front of her, mentally drooling over her beloved little corporate president. Quatre Raberba Winner had never yet ceased to impress her. And in a day and a half, he had just managed to impress the entire business world and then some.

Always action oriented, he had taken an initiative that few had ever heard of, let alone that he did it immediately. A corporate officer—no, no, _the_ corporate officer—had dropped everything and had rushed to the aid of bottom level workers. Although the lack of functioning stations would be a serious loss, compared to the larger production of L4's ten stations, L3's eight, and L5's six, the little L1 stations were of far less consequence. During the war L1 and L2 weren't even operational.

Granted, she was in a bit better position to realize that than most of the jumpy investors who were, at this moment, racing to buy back what they had just sold.

Ah, but dear Quatre probably hadn't even concerned himself with the numbers. Instead he walked into the fray and made it a personal stake to soothe the ruffled feathers. And he'd blatantly fired some poor man in front of the whole Sphere to boot.

With a happy giggle, she stood staring fixatedly at Quatre's image on the screen as he almost shyly seemed to listen to the worker compliment his commitment to them and his project ideas. With a small shake of her head, Dorothy Catalonia conceded her own awed respect to him as well. Raising a hand she pecked a kiss to her finger tips and pressed them to his image.

"Hurry home, darling. You've ignored me far long enough during this," she told him. "After all, I need to ask when you bought one of Stephan's suits," she shrugged to herself before clicking off the television.

* * *

Marquis Wayridge stood before the television as the conference finished and the group turned to shake hands and the reporters began their commentary. Behind his back he slowly tapped the remote control against his other hand as he remained in thought. With a hum, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, a small smile raising his lips.

* * *

"Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them." - Oscar Wilde

AN: Very Quatre-centric, I know, but I thought that more appropriate. Forgive me if my ideas of unions and whatnot are a bit skewed, I have no real experience of my own.

Edited by Spiked Jin


	46. Chapter 46

AN: A special thank you to Valles, who officially screwed over my attempt to tip-toe around the fact that my imagination of the colony placements at the Lagrangian points is… significantly flawed. :) That being said, there have been some tweaks but for the sake of my creative sanity my general attitude will be that if the GW writers could get away with it, so can I, and I invite my ever beloved science geeks to just bear with me. (This ends your latest Isis blunder alert. Thank you and stay tuned.)

A giant thank you to Random Pixy who got me a photo of a real, live, honest PINK limo! Have I mentioned that my readers are the absolute best! (I feel so special) And I love you all, so here's your chapter. :D

_Revelations_  
By Isis  
Chapter 46

"If it isn't the man of the hour."

With a smile Quatre tucked his ear piece in a bit better as he drove himself home from the spaceport. "I hope I didn't keep you up waiting," he responded, wondering—but specifically not checking—what time it was there. The message was short, but demanding, as per the Lady Catalonia's style, and he dared not deny her the call she wanted.

"Worth the trouble," she returned.

So that was her mood. Very well. "So? How did I do?"

"You're implying that I sat here and did nothing but follow your every, press-covered move, Mr. Winner?"

With a chuckle he stopped the car at a light and propped up his head with an elbow on the windowsill. "Yes."

"Why would you believe that?" she purred.

"Well, if nothing else, I'm sure you wanted to know how badly I was going to ruin your personal investment sheets," he chuckled at her. "I've heard we bottomed out at 27 credits for a while."

"26.21."

With a cringe, he was thankful the markets were closed for the weekend. "Ouch. Did we get anything back after the conference?"

"Day ended at 37.14."

Balking, he didn't notice the light change until the car ahead of him pulled away. "Really?"

"I'm looking for it to be over 55 by Wednesday, at which point I think I'll sell off my extra shares before the market calms back down again."

With a laugh, he eased into the early evening traffic around him. "Why Lady Catalonia, I take it as a personal compliment that you had enough faith to buy in during all of this."

"You should," she obviously smirked at him. "If it were anyone else I would have bailed the first time it dropped to 37 credits in one day."

"Insider trading?" he chuckled at her.

"…Feminine intuition," she corrected.

Puffing out a sigh, he let himself relax again. "Meaning I did something right," he happily noted, mostly to himself.

"Masterful."

"Excuse me?" he chuckled at her phrasing.

"Unequivocally, Master Winner. Nothing could have impressed me more."

Wow, a direct compliment…. "Hmm. Thank you."

"Welcome," she sighed. "All better now?"

Quatre's lopsided smile was stuck in place as he listened to her voice mellow out. "All except for one major concern."

"Which is?"

"My favorite director, Norman Sheel. Apparently he more than just doesn't agree with my project ideas. He has been systematically undercutting them."

"A Board member? What does he have to do with the company's actual functioning?"

"Directly… nothing," Quatre admitted. "But he can make a number of heavy suggestions to mid and lower level managers to get them to ask for what he wants."

"Oh, a busy little snake in the grass isn't he?" she cooed, obviously enjoying the thought of internal espionage.

"Yes, but I'm afraid he's nowhere near your caliber, Delilah," he teased her.

"Obviously. He got caught," she snickered. "So, do we get to publicly guillotine him now?"

"No, the company still needs him. Especially with the stock price jumping like this. It would only hurt to remove someone like him right after a potential disaster."

"A potential disaster that you've just implied he had something to do with," Dorothy carefully analyzed.

"That shouldn't be an issue any longer," he stated a little too bitterly.

"Not exactly getting himself on your Christmas card list, now is he?"

Thinking back to the look on the man's face after he confronted him about not wanting to continue the safety upgrades, Quatre laughed it off. "We'll see what happens after all of this blows over."

There was a disheartened sigh from her end of the line. "You're too forgiving for your own good, you know that?"

Dorothy seemed a little too primed for a lynching. "I didn't say I was going to forgive him. He seems to see me as a necessary nuisance, I can return the favor. I just don't think firing a director is ever going to be a good thing."

"As long as you can deal with him, fine. But if this man isn't showing you the same loyalty that you are to him, get rid of him. Alpha-male, Quatre. You're still establishing that."

In the safety of his car, thousands of miles away, he rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Now then. On to the fun question," she switched again.

With a chuckle, he decided he would humor her anything right now. "What is that?"

"Your suit today looked rather suspicious."

"My suit?" he asked before quickly catching on. "…You could tell from a news feed?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, it does fit you far better. And I was fairly certain that you hadn't gotten your ritual feel-up from anyone else. I'll have to tell Stephan he's finally being displayed on a man of position."

"Is that what I am?" he sighed. Well, so much for casually working into something a little more her taste. He hadn't thought that she'd actually recognize the change right off.

There was a predatory little hum from her. "Do prepare yourself dear. You have just made your debut."

"Meaning?"

"Be very careful with your public appearances for a while. You'll be under heavy scrutiny until this all gets forgotten."

"Dorothy, you're forgetting that I don't have public appearances," he chuckled at her.

"Yet."

With a sigh he gave up. "Alright, alright. I promise to brush my hair before I ever leave a building from now on," he teased her.

"Do that," she agreed. "Oh, but one more thing."

"What's that?" Turning, he took the exit toward the business area on this side of the colony, fondly picking out his office building from the rising skyline.

"Promise me right now that you'll humor me."

Uh oh. "I'm getting to know you too well to promise you much of anything before I hear it."

"Please?" she asked sweetly. He could almost see her batting her eyes.

"Maybe," he returned. "What is it?"

"No, no, promise me first," she returned.

With no reason to really refute her, Quatre gave in. "Fine. I promise. What is it?"

"Take off your tie, and unbutton your collar."

Turning down the street, he passed by the office on his way home, happily noting that no one was still working and there was no media outside. "Now?" he asked, a little distracted.

"Yes, now."

"Why now?" he asked. She couldn't even see him.

"First of all—and I want you to remember this—you need to burn all of your ties. They do not, and will never, look good on you. Just take it off."

With an exasperated sigh, he followed her instructions, not exactly caring at this point anyway. "Alright, done. Happy?"

"Unbutton your collar."

Without flourish he undid the top button. "There. Are you happy now?"

"Quite. Are you home yet?"

"Almost," he answered, turning down the tiny side road. "Why?"

"Just wondering is all."

Finding that suspiciously odd, he eyed the tie that he had draped over his luggage in the passenger seat. "Dorothy, what are you planning?"

"Nothing. What do you take me for?"

That sounded entirely too innocent for this woman. "Perhaps a better question is: where are you?"

"Me? I'm snuggled into my covers at home, of course."

Well, at least she wasn't waiting for him in his own house. "Then what is so important about—"

He dropped out as he turned the car up the private drive to the manor. In a blur of activity four or five sets of media equipment went up from the end of his drive as reporters seemed to appear out of thin air in the dusky evening light.

"Quatre?"

Pulling carefully through the people, he continued on, parking the car at the front side of the manor, not daring to disappear out of sight lest they all try to invade the house in search of him instead. "I seem to have company," he mumbled to her, watching his rearview mirror as they practically ran up the drive.

"Ah, the clingy reporters. I expected those."

"You expected—Dorothy!" he yelled at her. "You didn't warn me," he accused.

"Of course I did. Remember your promise," she happily added, just as he was reflexively ready to re-button his collar.

"You have to be kidding," he muttered, still watching the approaching group. "What do I do with these people?" he asked, worry setting in as he turned off the car.

"Smile. Say hello. Tell them you already made your statement. Give them some casual line about how it's nice to have everything back to normal. Go inside… and turn on the sprinklers."

And despite it all, he laughed at her. "I don't have sprinklers," he mumbled.

"Just smile then," she teased before he heard the line click off.

Pulling the ear piece out, he tossed it back into the console, picked up his phone, and then quickly tucked his tie into a side pocket of the suitcase.

"_Smile." "Smile." All she tells me is "smile." Why do I love her?_

Exiting the car he closed the door before he did just that and smiled toward the crowd that was circling around him. "Good evening."

About four different questions came flying in and he back peddled a step or two.

"Excuse me," he held up his hands, surprisingly getting them to quiet down. "I'm sorry, but I've already made my statement. I really don't have anything to add," he tried, using the only tactic that she'd given him.

"Mr. Winner, can you comment on the record jumps in your company's stock performance?" one of them got in.

"I'm afraid not," he shook his head. "I've only just been informed of it myself." Realizing that they weren't going to let him go without a sound bite, he swallowed back his feelings of being cornered. "Please, I have nothing to add to my statement. Thank you for coming, but if you'll excuse me I haven't been home yet and I have a number of things to catch up on."

With a final smile he turned and walked around the car to collect his luggage, only off handedly answering a yes or no to things he'd already made apparent in his speech.

Walking away toward the door he gave them a mild wave and said goodnight again. And was rather thankful that they didn't attempt to follow him up to the doors. Unlocking them and getting inside, he locked them again behind himself and puffed a thankful sigh for the solitude of the house for the first time in years.

He made it halfway up the stairs before his phone rang in his pocket and he stopped to get it out, recognizing the ring. "How do you know these things?" he answered it. "Seriously, if you sent these people…" he trailed off, not knowing how to finish that threat.

All he got back was Dorothy's little laugh.

* * *

Happily humming to herself Dorothy clipped away at the picture until she got it sized right to fit in the frame. A bold, brushed silver-tone frame. It seemed stately enough for the rather incidental looking photo. Although he apparently hadn't given them anything to quote while the reporters captured him outside of the manor—which rose perfectly in the background—it didn't mean that they weren't above using stills for follow up reports.

It was basically a bust shot, portrait style almost, as he flashed a smile somewhat over his shoulder back to the camera. And her dearest had indeed humored her and unbuttoned the collar. Somehow she truly doubted she was the only teenaged girl who had found, saved, and printed out this shot.

Giggling at her own actions Dorothy carried the frame back down the hall and into the music room of the chateau. There she scooted a few other frames around on her shelves and tucked Quatre cozily on the bottom shelf on the right side.

She couldn't have done better if she'd planned it.

* * *

He was exquisite. Pure but tainted. Naive yet fired and refined. Brilliant but humble. Steadfast and strong willed, but impressionable. Dangerous… but humanitarian. A pacifist soldier.

The man was his own character foil.

Bringing her attention back to the man sniveling in front of her, Dorothy tapped her finger nail against the desktop that she lounged on, pretending to be listening to him until he faltered to a stop to look at her impatient index finger. "Are you quite through?" she asked him.

The shipping company's representative looked back at her a little wide-eyed. "Ma'am?"

Her finger stopped. "I have no patience for your—or your firm's— excuses. I will not tolerate delays with people's health on the line. The Mars workers were reduced to rationing out their drinking water for two days waiting for supply ships that should have been there four days before it was needed."

The man actually swallowed.

"Remind me again how much your contract to us is worth for your pathetic excuse of a shipping line," she stared at him.

"I-I don't know that for sure, Ma'am," he quietly stared at her.

If he called her ma'am one more time she was going to throw a stapler at him. "Well, it's a good thing I do then," she snapped without raising her voice. Narrowing her eyes, Dorothy stared back at him. "This is not the first time that your company has seriously jeopardized the well-being of the crews on the Mars colony. Those are crews that I, personally, will not allow to be harmed by the blatant stupidity of droning little middle-men like yourself."

"But, Ma'am!"

Her eyebrow twitched but she managed to keep herself in check.

"It was a mechanical problem. It's very difficult to get ships back and forth as quickly as they need supplies. We're running our own people into danger if we don't catch and fix things when they happen."

"So you're obviously suggesting that I need a larger service line with more adequate ships," she thoughtfully mused. "I suppose you're right. It is unfair for me to believe a company like yours could keep up with the demand that we have."

The man about fell over. "But Ma'am!"

Narrowing her eyes further, she glared at him. Pointedly, she uncrossed her legs under her suit skirt and stood up to full height. "Any ships that you have underway or are already loaded will be paid for as usual. Your inability to meet the demands of this project has voided our contract with you. You have three weeks of time remaining, I would suggest that you get your people motivated to find you some replacement work."

The man sputtered a couple more times, all but begging her to give them another chance, which she flatly denied before showing him out the door of her office. …Well, of whoever's office she'd confiscated as soon as she had gotten to the Satellite again after hearing about the plight of her poor workers.

It had taken her two days, but she already had another shipping line ready to give their attempt at the IRIS supply line and the contract was all but signed. Dorothy figured she could trust the general management up here to handle at least that much on their own.

Repacking her attaché case, she closed it up and headed out as well. This little distraction was much more annoying than angering. And it was far worse for anyone around her if Dorothy Catalonia found something annoying.

She had a fundraiser to finish preparations for, after all. She had already left Quatre to brief Heero and Relenas' security team on the setup. He, of course, would be better at that anyway, but she had still planned to be there. Aside from that, her gardens were still hurriedly being rearranged, and she had left the first stages of the formal ballroom setup to Davonte.

Dorothy just desperately needed to get back there. As it was, Quatre would arrive ahead of her no matter what. Which didn't bother her in the least of course, but it wasn't good manners.

Her dearest Quatre. She was simply anxious to have him again.

* * *

This wasn't going to be as bad as Quatre expected. His briefing with the team had gone very well. Andrew and Byron had barely batted an eye at the idea of him and Dorothy both holding Preventers credentials as civilians… and the fact that he outranked them and would hold the lead on their assignment for three days.

However, he was a little stumped to discover that Heero had invited Duo and Hilde as well. He got the feeling that Heero didn't really think he would be impartial enough in this particular assignment, but Quatre decided he wouldn't take any offense to it. Although he wondered if Heero actually had any clue that Duo and Dorothy worked far better together than either let on.

Ah well, he'd watch them as well. And if Hilde wasn't following her boyfriend into trouble, they could go two on two.

Quatre happily let himself into the kitchen of the chateau, surprising a couple of Dorothy's maids who were busily making little molds of something. Mints perhaps. Flashing them a smile he excused his way through, completely forgetting that her house staff would still be here for the next couple days during the preparations.

For added security, they would be removed from the building for the actual event, replaced mostly by a collection of the Maguanacs acting as servers. Quatre would admit he did find some entertaining prospects in that. Regardless though, the guys were more than enthused about helping, and he was sure that had a little to do with the prospect of them snickering in his general direction as he attempted to escort the Lady Catalonia for a night.

Well, as long as they were the only ones laughing at him, he'd be happy.

Hearing voices from the ballroom, Quatre tucked his luggage into the den just down the hall and continued on, sure that he recognized at least one voice. Stepping up to one of the doorways he peeked in to find Davonte standing in the middle of a pile of boxes as two of the house servers set up tables around him.

Walking down the steps, he also noted Marchioness Wayridge carefully peering into boxes around the area too, thoughtfully mumbling back to the artist. "What was she going to do with these?"

"I haven't the foggiest, your majesty," Davonte answered her.

The woman openly laughed at the incorrect titling before going back to the boxes. "Dear, oh dear."

"May I be of service?" Quatre announced himself, priding himself on the look of the redesigned ballroom.

"Ah, the poor schmuck arrives," Davonte tossed back in his direction. "Run for it now, Mr. Winner. We'll cover for you."

"Why would I do that?" he chuckled.

"You have to be cracked to go with a woman to her own hosted function," he muttered, flipping through a couple sheets that looked suspiciously like Dorothy's notes.

Stopping at his side he curiously looked up at the taller man. "Didn't you escort her to your showing that she hosted?" he pointedly asked.

"Speaking from experience, Quatre," he waved it off.

"You're probably right," he answered before turning to extend a hand toward the Marchioness, who was sweeping back toward them. "Marchioness Elena. How are you, Ma'am?"

"Oh, precious boy," she shook her head at him before allowing him her hand. "Quite well, Mr. Winner. Quite well indeed. What is this I hear about you saving your company or something?" she asked as he pecked a polite kiss on her knuckles.

With a laugh he shook it off. "A very large misunderstanding is all. I just needed to talk with some of the right people."

"Ah, well, good," she accepted it, giving his hand a squeeze before she let go. "Now then, when is our dear Lady coming back?"

And for some reason, Quatre still felt a little touch of pride that everyone always expected him to know Dorothy's constant whereabouts. "I believe she's on her way. Depending on what flight she managed to get, she'll be here sometime tonight."

"Oh, Godspeed," Davonte sighed in relief beside them.

* * *

So far, the direct approach had gained him mild humiliation and nothing to show for it. The roses thing—which he thought was a fantastic idea—had probably lost him ground. Slowly working all of her suggestions into his physical appearance had backfired outright.

Quatre was back down to figuring that changing anything was only going to make her suspicious and get him in trouble. Changing his tactics, he had decided if he had wormed his way into Dorothy's heart this far, he'd just make himself right at home and "cling" there until she figured out she was stuck with him.

It wasn't the most romantic idea but Dorothy wasn't exactly the most romantic type of woman. Besides… he didn't exactly have any other ideas at the moment.

"You misspelled Heidense," he told her and handed the little place card back to her. Dorothy looked up and took it from him, frowning at the name. "It's 'ei.'"

With a sigh, she ripped the offending card in half and threw it into the trashcan. "Why am I doing this?" she grumbled again.

"I don't know. I really don't think it's a good idea," he added again. "You're bound to end up with someone across the table from someone that was on the wrong side of some law or bill somewhere," he flourished. "Open seating at least makes it their fault that they sat there."

Picking her calligraphy pen back up she gave him a frustrated moan. "But it's invitation only. If I know who will be coming I should set the place cards, right?"

With a laugh he shook his head. "You're asking me?"

"But…" she sighed, looking at the stack of cards that were already done next to him and then to the four packages left to go. "Alright, alright, I'll ask," she muttered, pulling her phone from under the piles that had collected over the desk.

"Um… Dorothy?" he stopped her.

"What?"

"It's almost midnight, I don't think the Marchioness is still up," he chuckled at her.

"It's what?" she blinked up at him. "No wonder I'm tired." Throwing down her pen, she closed her phone and promptly gave up.

Rising, he scooted her chair back himself, almost dumping her out, and forcefully poked at her to stand up. "Come on, you can do this tomorrow. I'm sending you to bed for once," he snickered at her.

"Oh? Should I whine and try to stop you?" she fired right back at him as he prodded her along toward the door.

And with a miserable sigh he hung his head and shuffled along after her, clicking off the light to the office. "You're really not good on my ego, you know that?"

Leading them down the hallway, she waved a hand at him. "Funny, I was just thinking that I needed to knock you back down a peg or two."

"You do this on purpose?" he stopped.

"Every man needs a good woman to keep him in line. Unfortunately," she spun around in the hall to face him, "you haven't found one, so you're stuck with me." Winking at him she happily continued along and around the corner to the main stairs.

Trailing behind, he wondered if he should try to refute that. Dorothy seemed to have some odd idea…. "You really think that someday I'm going to stumble across some sweet, sheltered girl and instantly fall for her, don't you?" he quietly accused her, leaning against the bottom railing of the stairs as she stopped half way up the open staircase.

Looking down at him a second she seemed to consider that. "Well, I wouldn't say instantly, that's not really your style. But, yes," she nodded.

Watching her curiously, he squashed down the feelings that assaulted him and kept to his more analytical side. "Why?"

"Why—which part?" she asked, confused.

"Any of it. All of it," he shrugged. "Do you really think I'm incapable of figuring out my own affections?" he honestly asked her.

With a chuckle she continued up the stairs and he had no choice but to follow. "Well, I hope you can. Because I certainly can't figure out your affections."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Chuckling she turned around on the steps to look down as he almost caught up with her. "Quatre, you're a sweetheart. You always have been." Reaching down she patted his cheek, "Part of that adorable thing."

He gave her a deflated expression with a sigh.

Giggling again she continued past the second floor landing. "I don't understand how you keep any of your affections straight. You have so many people in your life that I'd never keep up with caring about them all. You have a very… spacious heart, darling. I'm only saying that you need someone similar," she flourished.

And he stopped as she reached the landing and couldn't help but laugh at her. Turning away he tried to bite it back down.

"What?"

"Do you even hear yourself?" he chuckled at her. "Dorothy, you're putting limits on concern like it's a tangible object."

She stepped back to the railing and leaned against it to prop up her chin. "Well, some of us are fickle," she shrugged.

Rolling his eyes at her, he continued up the last third of the steps to her. "Some of us are better at pretending we aren't concerned with others," he refuted her. "That's not the same thing," he specifically tossed back at her as he now led them down the hall.

"Some of us aren't as brave."

"Some of us are too rational to try," he quietly teased her, turning back to make sure she was following.

"That's a difference of opinion," Dorothy stated, catching up with him again as they walked toward the middle of the wing and the family apartment.

Yes, the one wall he had no idea how to get through. "Concern isn't based out of reason. They're two different sides in us. You can't force yourself to care about someone, and you can't force yourself not to."

"That's not entirely true," she thoughtfully analyzed. "Initially, yes. The 'first sight' gut instinct, yes. But any relationship takes work. If you're willing, it develops; if you're not, you can't expect something for nothing."

Opening the door for her, he let her in first. "But a relationship is more than just concern. And anyone that you're really working at a relationship with… is closer to love."

Dorothy chuckled at him as she turned the chandelier's dimmer switch to a low setting. "Is there such a distinction to you, Quatre?"

Closing the outer door, he paused but again squashed down his emotional side. "Sometimes," he truthfully admitted. "Not every rectangle is a square."

With a laugh she opened her bedroom door before pausing. "That's a fun analogy," she said, slipping into the room but leaving the door open.

_And that's an invitation_, he thought with a smile. Apparently the Lady wasn't through with him yet. Well, he'd be happy to humor her. Following, he paused at the open doorway and watched her shuffle a few things in her luggage before lifting the bags off the bed where they had been laid.

"But not every relationship you actively pursue is going to lead to love. Things don't always work," she continued, not even looking up to see if he was listening.

"I wouldn't agree with that," he replied. Quietly he eyed the large, four-post bed and the delicately woven cream comforter. Subtle patterns of flowers traced over the design, a few threads of pink were added to bring out the idea of blossoms. For some reason it seemed a little too frail and girly for Dorothy.

"Don't tell me," she chuckled, "you have some magical, surefire way of making any girl swoon into your arms?"

Openly laughing at the idea he shook his head, leaning against the doorframe. "No."

"What then?" she asked, slipping onto her knees on the bed and sitting down to raise a questioning eyebrow in his direction.

Meeting her eyes for a second, he looked away again to scrutinize the dark purple drapes that hung on the two floor-to-ceiling windows that graced either side of the bed. "You're not distinguishing your relationships. Most of the people we love are not in romantic ways."

"Ah," she seemed to think on that a second but then curiously looked at him as he finished his scan of her room and met her eyes once more. "The square within a square?" she teased.

"Logarithmic spiral?" he chuckled.

Dorothy rolled her eyes at him. "I hate Geometry."

With a shrug he decided to be bold and walked into her room to stand at the foot of her bed. "Another thing to add to the list of our notorious differences."

"It's so stark," she shook it off. "I like things with more gray area."

"So you're getting a law degree?" he asked, adding his hands to his pockets for something to do and then turning to curiously look around the rest of her room. "Some days I worry about you."

"Well, not at this rate," she bitterly snipped.

"Dorothy, people that have gone through standard schooling don't always pass their bars the first time," he consoled her again. She was a little disheartened over that. "The only reason you took them so soon anyway was because you wanted to brag that you made it when you were still eighteen," he tossed back at her.

"Admittedly." Her laugh was happy and genuine from behind him as he made a slow rotation around, looking at the mostly empty room. A few trinkets here and there, a bulletin board that showed some promise, a few shelves with various collections, and a little doll shelf beside the door.

"You know, this is all a question of vocabulary," she settled again.

"Which is actually as different as every person is," Quatre agreed. He was a little distracted though as he slowly paced over to the shelf. The long, white, carved shelf only held one little doll, but it seemed very suspicious. "No two people love the same way."

"Really?" she drawled, apparently not believing him.

"Of course not," he didn't turn back but stepped up to the shelf, a little awed by the doll that sat prim and proper in a gold colored dress. The strands of blond hair were so fine and delicate he honestly did wonder if they were real. A little headband held the locks back from a perfect little face with its narrow eyes, high cheekbones and straight, slightly pointy nose. Turning back to her, Quatre curiously pointed back to it. "Mini-Dorothy?" he asked.

With a giggle she nodded. "Davonte used to say it was my own voodoo doll." He laughed but motioned toward it with a questioning look and she shooed him on. "Grandfather brought her back from… somewhere for me," she tried to think. "I used to have a rather extensive collection of china dolls. They've all gone one way or another."

Having her permission, Quatre gently picked up the doll, noting the weight of the probably foot tall replica. "She even has your eyebrows," he noted, absolutely in love with the little thing already. She was perfect, detailed so carefully in all of her features. The dress she wore was high collared and formal, but the black headband was a perfect match.

Dorothy gave him an annoyed sound for the reference, but he laughed anyway. "Well, she does," he shrugged. "Her eye color is a little off though," he noted, watching the light catch the cuts of glass under the fine, pale lashes.

"Really? I always thought they matched."

"They're a little too blue," he offhandedly noted. All at once it hit him that he was holding a very—probably ridiculously—expensive keepsake from her grandfather. A very precious, _irreplaceable_ keepsake. "I think maybe you'd better stay nice and safe up here," he half-whispered to the doll and carefully placed her back on the shelf.

"The poor thing is probably dusty," Dorothy noted from behind his elbow, about making him jump from his careful movements.

Ignoring the fact that she'd snuck up on him, he adjusted the doll's hands to sit in her lap again and tilted her head to lie back against the wall. Only to have her slump forward when he moved his hand. Again he moved her back, and again she didn't seem to want to sit up straight. "Just like your original," he muttered to it as he tried and tried again to position the stubborn thing right.

With a giggle, she prodded him out of the way and reached up to adjust it herself. Of course this time it stayed. "There. Just needs a woman's touch," she cooed, pushing a lock of its hair back behind again.

"OK, I'd like you to note something." He motioned to the doll, "This is adorable. I am not. Can you distinguish the difference now?" he chuckled at her.

Dorothy gave him a smile and a shrug. "It's all in the vocabulary."

Groaning he gave up again and turned away as she arranged the lay of the doll's dress. "She's precious, but I wouldn't have expected you for a doll collector." Wandering on, he stepped up to the bulletin board he'd spotted earlier and began a careful study of a number of newspaper clippings and ribbons.

"I always thought they were pretty. It was much more of the craftsmanship than the subject matter usually."

"That sounds more like you," Quatre agreed, only half paying attention to her as he scanned the board. "No imagination."

"Very funny," she sarcastically put in. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Snooping," he answered with a smile as he continued looking through the odd collection of things.

"Well, I can't say you aren't honest."

A particular image caught his attention. Half buried under a movie ticket stub and a string of plastic pearls, a clipping read: "Catalonia Named Junior Champion." None of that surprised him, but the yellowed image that looked back at him did.

He'd finally found something from those missing years he'd noted in the images downstairs in the music room. Dorothy stood in full fencing gear, her mask and foil in hand, and a quick look at the text confirmed his guess that she was about ten. …And her hair was back in a shoulder length ponytail. If it wasn't for the features and the infamous eyebrows, he wasn't sure he would have recognized her.

"Don't tell me that surprises you," she hummed, snuggling into his side and resting her chin on his shoulder.

"The award? No," he confirmed. "When did you cut your hair?" he asked instead, wondering if it was just a camera fault.

"Hmm? Oh." There was a little pause, but she didn't step away. "It was actually a little longer then already. I went through a phase," she admitted.

"A phase?" he tried to look at her from the corner of his eye.

"I think I was seven. I got very tired of it always being in my face one day and just… cut it off," she easily recited. "By ten or eleven I let it get most of the way to mid-back so that I could braid it for competition. I really didn't let it grow out until I was twelve," she explained.

Seven to twelve… approximately the years that he'd noted were lost in the photos before. Something in those years wasn't right. Of course, probably nothing in those years was right. By seven she had just lost both parents and was under the direction of her grandfather.

"What made you decide to grow it out again?" he asked, trying to sound merely curious but hoping she'd open up and talk about it.

"Several things," she sidestepped instead.

Now, apparently, wasn't the time. "You just really wouldn't be you otherwise," he quietly added with a smile, deciding to lighten the mood.

"Do you really care?" she asked, obviously curious at the statement.

Turning into her, he caught her eyes as she looked up at him. He was beginning to like her in bare feet. Slowly he was appreciating his growing height advantage. Keeping his smile, he thoughtfully looked at her. "Would it sound stupid if I said I like your hair?" he whispered.

Blinking at him, she slowly returned the smile but shook her head. "No."

"I like your hair," he admitted openly.

And she cracked to a full laugh at him. "Alright, maybe a little stupid," she joked.

"Great."

Still happily snickering at him, she turned to walk away and Quatre watched the little black headband in her hair with an unusually evil idea. As she turned her back to him, he reached up and gently but quickly pulled the accessory out of her hair.

Dorothy squeaked and rounded on him at the move. "Why don't you ever leave your hair down?" he curiously asked before she could yell at him. Looking at her, he wondered if he'd ever really seen her like this before.

"It gets in my face," she answered with a sour expression. Bowing her head, she shook it a few times until her hair parted down the middle and hung a little messily from being rudely set free. "And it looks flat," she reasoned.

Quatre didn't agree at all. She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. But he tried to give her a confused look to cover his thoughts. "But a headband helps that?"

Rolling her eyes Dorothy sighed at him, but surprisingly turned and walked back to her bed, running her hands through both sides to smooth the strands out to the ends. "It was my concession."

"Concession?" He only watched her as she collected the length of the strands and sat down again on her knees, holding the ends in her lap.

With a deep breath, she seemed to slip away to her thoughts as she fiddled with the collected ends of her hair. "Treize had a habit of trying to make me into some semblance of a woman. He picked on me until one day it finally soaked in. I grew my hair out after that."

Quatre carefully walked back to her side to look down at her. That didn't seem right. Dorothy was anything but someone who had forsaken her feminine charms. Looking up at him, she didn't seem bothered by the admission but she did expectantly hold out a hand until he meekly returned the headband.

Instead of putting it on, she held it in her lap and looked down at it. "I'm surprised that I've never told you this," she began. "Treize was my first and greatest fencing instructor. He took great pleasure in teaching me, and greater pleasure in beating me. For a long while, in those years, I had a temper that even you would not believe and I let everything get to me."

It was the quick look she cast toward the bulletin board that denoted which years she meant.

"I don't suppose it was anything odd for a person with my history. But it wasn't… ladylike," Dorothy smirked at the reference. "I didn't let my hair down at all in those days. I had no desire to make myself pretty or accommodating to the shriveled old crusts that frequented this house." She held up the band in front of her. "Each time he bested me, Treize would claim my ponytail holder as his prize for the bout."

Smirk still in place, she looked up at him again and Quatre only managed to give her a tight, guilty smile for bringing up the memories. But he was very surprised when she handed the black band back to him and waited for him to take it. "I'm sure I owe you at least one."

"I didn't beat you at anything," he refuted.

Dorothy only gave him a snort. "I must be very good at not admitting to it then."

He understood. The same way that he knew how many conversations and word-battles he'd lost to her, she knew how many times he had come out ahead in the trivialities of their relationship. It was always a competition between them. Everything seemed to have a price or a prize.

And with a nod he accepted it. "Somehow I can't imagine you… ignoring your finer arts," he carefully worded the statement.

With a laugh, Dorothy nodded easily and let him take a seat beside her. "You've always said that I wouldn't recognize you before you hit thirteen. You probably wouldn't recognize me if you saw me before twelve. I… hit my turning point," she added.

"Because of Treize?"

"Mostly," she admitted. "Davonte was a nice help toward that role as well," she added with a smile. "My 'finer arts' were honed as quickly as I could after I realized that Treize was right. He told me that a gracious, listening ear would gain me far more than my tendency to run off at the mouth. A task I'm still working on," she mused to him.

With a laugh he could only agree. "I'd say you're doing well."

"Thank you."

But for some reason, Quatre still didn't like his thoughts about her and Treize. He had used her to spy on the Romafeller members for him; she had already told him that. But Dorothy probably didn't see it that way. Perhaps it had been her decision, but he just wasn't sure the OZ leader had been as sincere with her as he should have been. "I didn't realize how close you were to Treize."

With a hum she turned her eyes back down to her lap. "He was one of the very few men I honestly respected. He understood my thoughts, and after a fashion, I his."

_In a way that I never will._ As close as he would ever get to knowing her, her thoughts were hers alone. Quatre didn't have enough of the keys to her past and her philosophies to understand her like her cousin could. A man of her own thoughts. A man she could respect… could love.

He was beginning to realize they were one and the same with her.

Looking down at the headband he still idly held, he wondered if that wasn't the reason he believed she loved him too. Dorothy respected what he had stood for, even if she didn't take the same exact stand. Looking back from this perspective now, he could find the things that he believed had gained her trust and this place in her heart.

It did also explain why it didn't seem to be romantic.

"_The earliest blossoms are always the most beautiful because they are the first we see. But they bloom only once."_ He didn't know how long he had tried to figure out what the Commander meant by those words. Was it only that Dorothy was an "early bloomer" or that her chance at being able to fall completely in love had already been stolen from her?

"…_I certainly can't figure out your affections." _Perhaps she never would.

"Quatre?"

He snapped his attention back to her. "Sorry," he apologized.

But she carefully scrutinized him a moment longer. "Sometimes you seem so sad when you do that. What is it that keeps bothering you?" Reaching up, she carefully brushed his bangs away from his eyes. That maternal, whisper of a touch of hers.

"Sad?" he quietly asked her, thrown off guard by the assessment.

There was worry in her eyes as he looked for an answer from her, and she softly replied, "Yes."

How often had she noticed this? And what did he say to ease her concern?

She beat him to it. "Sometimes you just seem lost. Is it me?" she obviously wondered, retracting her hand. "Do I just bring up these things in you?"

Quatre didn't know how to answer that, honestly or not. Sad? Was that really what he was? He would have never described his thoughts like that. "I'm sorry," he finally shook off the shock of her statement. "I… don't think I'm sad," he tried to answer her.

Obviously that wasn't good enough though as Dorothy continued to wait for him to say something else.

Avoiding her probing eyes he tried to come up with something to tell her. "It's nothing you do. I mean, it's not your fault. Sometimes, I guess I just…" he trailed out, not having any idea what he was saying. "Alright, I just really don't know," he confided instead. "How often do I do this?"

Looking up he caught her smile as she shook her head at him. "I don't know. Sometimes I just feel like there are a lot deeper things going on in you than you're admitting to."

Dorothy brushed it off, but it jarred him to hear her say that. "I don't mean to seem like I'm keeping anything from you," he answered quickly. He was consciously not admitting to a lot of things, but he didn't exactly consider that the same thing.

"We all keep our thoughts," she answered in typical Dorothy style, her smirk coming back. "I just don't want to be the cause of your troubling ones."

If she only knew…. He watched her with a smile as she crawled over to his side, tucking her feet under her skirt and leaning into him. For a moment he only watched her lay her head on his shoulder as they leaned against each other. His thoughts circled as it took a second for him to come to a decision.

"I know the reason," he quietly informed her. "My thoughts are safe with you."

"Safe?"

"It's helpful to have someone who knows me," he confessed to the headband still in his hands. Trowa had taught him that. "It's easier to remember things when you don't feel… alone," he admitted. She deserved to know. "I trust myself with you."

"What do you mean you trust yourself _with_ me?" Dorothy picked her head up to look at him, but he didn't return it.

Still focused on the thoughts, and his feelings, and the conversation that had led them up the stairs…. "There are two sides in every relationship," he quietly told her. "How you feel about the person, and how they make you feel about yourself." Glancing at her curious expression he flashed her a little smile. "The second part is usually harder to figure out. At least for me," he added before turning away again.

"How do I help you trust yourself?"

She didn't get it. After all of this time, Dorothy just really didn't get it. She was his confidence. She could make or break him with a word, a look, a touch, anything. He was willingly at her mercy. "I think I trust you more than I trust myself," he answered instead. "Your opinion means more to me than my own does sometimes… a lot of times," he corrected.

"That doesn't seem healthy," she teased him.

And he chuckled at her. "That's why it's a good thing I trust you."

"Is it so important to your ego to know how everyone thinks of you?" she turned on him.

"No. Just those closest to me," he answered with a shy smile in her direction.

"And that includes me?" she raised an eyebrow.

Quatre openly laughed at her. "Of course it does. Why wouldn't it?" Sighing at himself he turned away from her eyes. "I'm actually embarrassed to think about how often I've cried on your shoulder," he confessed. "Do you ever get sick of me?" he asked instead, spitting out whatever came to mind.

With a laugh, she snuggled into his side again. "No. It's one of your endearing qualities."

"Unstable and clingy," he mumbled. "You have lousy taste in men," he joked.

Poor Dorothy laughed and slipped away from his shoulder and fell backwards on the bed.

"I should start worrying about your prospects more than mine," he reasoned to her still giggling form. "You've got 40-some men at your every whim, and not one of us is completely stable. A woman that could have her choice of men in the entire Sphere, and you have only a slightly better dating record than I do. What is your excuse?" he asked.

Finally looking back at her, he figured out she wasn't in any shape to give him a vocal answer as she continued laughing, her hair draping over her face.

With a shrug, he just went on, at least getting her to really laugh. "I at least get to be surrounded by domineering females who fully intend to run my life. Granted most of them are my sisters. But at least I'm sure I'll be informed when I've done something right."

"That is not true," she tried to sober.

Finally giving up his fight to keep from laughing at her laughter, he turned back to her slumped form. Dorothy's cheeks were pink as she still fought the giggles. She had to be the cutest thing he had ever known. "How is that not true?" he asked her. Motioning back toward the hallway and the distant staircase beyond. "You're acting like you're shopping for some mythical love-interest for me like a pair of shoes."

"How would you know how I shop for shoes?" she giggled back at him.

"That's beside the point," he grumbled at her.

"And how am I supposed to ignore you when you obviously need the help?" she retorted, raising her forearm to hold her head up with an elbow on the bedspread.

"I do not need help!" he snapped at her in annoyance.

Pausing for a second to clear her throat and give him a pointed stare he knew what was coming. "Do I need to remind you of Jesimae again?"

"How is that my fault?" he wilted down to ask.

"You didn't see it coming," she shrugged.

_Dorothy Catalonia is calling me oblivious_, he grumbled to himself as he gave her an unamused expression. "Would it have mattered if I did see it coming?"

"I think you would have been a little more receptive if you had," she nodded, the flush slowly fading from her laughing attack. "Catching you unprepared usually brings out a backlash in you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he curiously asked her, not sure he believed that assessment.

"Just an observation," she smiled.

Rolling his eyes he brushed it off. "I wouldn't have been any more receptive to her regardless of what I expected."

"Really? You know, I'm still not sure I understand why."

Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her. "You'll just laugh."

"Probably," she answered a little too honestly. "Tell me anyway," Dorothy prodded.

Quatre gave her a weary look and almost wished for the nice little show of concern to come back again. Manipulative little siren…. He turned away, figuring it wouldn't hurt to gently tell her she was wrong about everything. "She was… clingy," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?" came the slow reply. "I didn't hear that right." Moving back to a sitting position, Dorothy scooted around to sit on her knees facing him as he faced off the bed and avoided her expression.

"I said she was clingy," he repeated. "Using your word of course."

From the corner of his eye he watched her tap her fingertips together as he waited for her to respond to that. Finally she clapped her hands together and dropped them to her lap. "You're supposed to like clingy," she finally stated.

Turning, he looked at her oddly. "Why?"

"Because you're clingy," she explained.

Licking his lips, he ignored the standing insult and shook his head at her. "How am I supposed to be clingy with someone who's already stuck on me? You have to believe that opposites attract."

"Why do I have to believe that?" she blinked. He stared at her a second until she relented. "Well, alright but… there's some very fundamental… things," she sputtered for the right word.

Quatre laughed at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, there're compatibility issues. You can't be different in everything," she debated. "Although Heero and Relena are making a go at it," she muttered.

Remembering the conversations that he'd had with Miss Relena the past couple days, he smiled again to himself. "There are some very fundamental similarities there as well."

"See."

"I'm not arguing that," he shook it off. "I'm just saying that being emotionally… _outgoing_ isn't one of those qualities."

Dorothy tilted her head and looked at him again, absently pushing her unrestrained hair out of her face and back over her shoulder. "It's not?" she confirmed.

"No," he shrugged. "At least not to me," he added.

"So… no, 'emotionally outgoing' types for you?" she wondered at him.

He turned away with a groan and rolled his eyes. "How do I get into these conversations?"

"No, no. Seriously, think of what you're saying," she coaxed him along with a hand on his shoulder. "You're saying that you are looking for someone heartless and unreceptive."

"No, I'm not," he refuted. "No one purposefully sets out to find someone heartless. I'm just talking about someone a little more… restrained," he tried. "I'm not saying unaffectionate, just not… Jesimae-ish."

Pursing her lips, Dorothy took her hand back and thought. "What about bubbly? I've always seen you with bubbly," she mused.

"Seen me?" he questioned before deciding he didn't want to know. "No, not really," he answered.

"Sweet," she tried again.

"Sure," he nodded. "Not always necessary. Warm though. Oh," he groaned at himself. "You know what I mean," he ended it there, not believing he was actually talking like this.

With a confused look at him, Dorothy shook her head. "I don't have a bloody clue what you mean."

_And she tried to call me oblivious. _Pushing his thoughts back, he regained his composure before he hinted way too far at this. Focusing his thoughts again he slowly went back to the evening he spent on top of the Maguanac village's wall. "I don't know how to respond to a shower of affection."

"That's the point of finding someone. You get to learn," she waved it off.

Curiously he looked at her a minute and thought that through. There were things that he would say he learned from each person he had come to love over the years. Not just Dorothy, but the guys, the pilots, everyone. "But… you can't learn some things," he thought out loud. "I always appreciate the concern, but I get claustrophobic."

"Really?" she blinked at him, more than a little confusion showing.

"Yes," he shrugged. "I hate worrying people. I don't like making them think they have to respond to me. I'm not… used to it." Admitting that really kind of hurt. "I appreciate being on the giving end. But even that was just not comfortable with her."

"She didn't need it."

"Huh?" Taken from his thoughts he looked back at her to find Dorothy staring at the comforter beside her. Her hands in her lap were absently pushing her mother's ring up and down her finger. That wasn't the first time he'd noticed her fiddle with the heirloom when she was lost in thought.

"You're going to have to realize that most people in the world won't need you piecing them back together." Blinking, she raised her eyes to his again. "Not everyone needs saving, Sir Knight," she smirked at him.

Quatre didn't find that all that funny. "That's not what I do." Turning thoughtful she seemed to wait for him to continue and he tried very hard not to be hurt by the accusation. "I'm not trying to _solve_ anyone."

"I'm not saying you don't care, Quatre," she interrupted with a shake of her head. "It's impossible for you not to. But you are also tactical," her eyes narrowed a little. "Foremost you are a strategist. Your very nature seeks out problems in others. You have an undeniable devotion to fixing people."

It really didn't matter that it rang true; it just hurt to hear her reduce him to a few simple descriptions like that. Was this really how she saw him? She would never appreciate feeling like a puzzle to him. One that he added a piece to here and there whenever he walked past.

She must have seen it before he averted his eyes from her. "Perhaps fix isn't the right word. Help would be more fitting to you. You have an undeniable devotion to helping people."

That didn't make him feel better.

He felt her lean forward, brushing his shoulder. "I would also be a horrible hypocrite if I told you any of this was a bad thing."

According to whom?

"But you need to realize that eventually you won't be able to help any more. What then?" she quietly asked. Thoughts and images came up unbidden, a storm of things re-sorting themselves into place. "Will you still feel needed?"

And it stopped. Needed?

The idea of being needed wasn't his. It was hers. The underlying current that he'd felt in her for so long now. The need to feel needed, useful, with a purpose… someone with some pride….

Turning to face her, he met her eyes for a moment, fitting these things into place. "Would you?" he finally asked.

Her expression turned from patient to curious. "Would I?"

"You were the one looking for similarities," he added a soft smile as he realized it. "You may not exactly have the same range that I do, since I'm so 'spacious,'" he broke down into teasing her. "But you do the same thing."

"I do?" she raised an eyebrow and moved back to her sitting position.

Shaking his head, he scrutinized her now instead. "You don't see it. Maybe you don't want to see it," he corrected. "It's not about fixing people, or helping them either really. It's your response to them. It's… wanting the best for them." _Wanting to be the best for them_, he mentally added for himself. "Part of your mothering side," he finally chuckled at her.

He really didn't think Dorothy knew what to make of that. Slumping, she seemed to give herself an annoyed expression. "I have been around you too long."

"Like you said, it's not a bad thing." Thinking through everything again he filed the thoughts away, a little bittersweet with the revelation. "I'd be a hypocrite if I said it was."

With a snort she rolled her eyes at him. "You're a sappy bleeding heart," she informed him.

"And you're unreceptive," he joked. "I won't call you heartless though."

"Oh, thank you," she sarcastically brushed him off. "What was the point of this?"

"You were reminding me why I'll never let you set me up on a blind date," he chuckled, getting her to laugh.

"That's not really my style." Thoughtfully she paused before looking at him again. "You don't seem to mind it from me," she curiously stated.

"Mind what?"

"Concern."

Oh. Closing his eyes he turned away from her, but still allowed the smile. "No offense, Dorothy, but you have a very odd way of showing concern."

There was a little pause as she hummed at him. "I suppose I can't argue that."

With a laugh he nodded, glancing at her thoughtful expression. "I think that's part of why I feel safe with you," he softly admitted. "Most of the time," he rethought that.

"Because instead of 'helping' you I just pick on you until you snap out of it?"

Deflated, he gave her an incredulous look. "Is that really what you try to do?"

"Basically."

So much for that. "I really need to rethink this heartless thing," he mumbled.

"I am not," she snipped. "…Not completely heartless. A little sadistic with you, yes," she corrected, giving it a little more thought. "Actually… why do you like me?" she slumped her shoulders a little.

Quatre really did try to bite back the laugh but it didn't work. Instead he scooted around to sit sideways and face her. "You make me laugh," he offered to her bitter expression.

"Oh goody."

Shaking his head at her, he flashed her a smile. "Face it Miss Dorothy, if opposites attract, you're stuck with me," he happily informed her.

Rolling her eyes at him she failed to completely hide her smile. "Then what are you so giddy about?"

With a shrug he didn't let it daunt him. "I don't mind. I like you," he teased her.

With a loud sigh, she dropped her head. "What did I ever do to deserve that?" she mocked.

Leaning closer to her bowed head, he whispered back to her. "Sometimes I really don't know."

* * *

"_It's… wanting the best for them."_

Dorothy was snuggled comfortably into her covers, drowsily running through their nightcap of a conversation before figuring it was far too late to waste sleep worrying over dear Quatre's love life. The man was impossible. He set out to make things difficult, she was sure of it by now.

For all she cared the danged man could find his own wife from now on. It'd be good for him.

Ah well. The poor soul still had her, as long as he could stand her. _"Face it Miss Dorothy, if opposites attract, you're stuck with me." _Silly boy was getting himself in over his head.

She allowed a chuckle as she hugged her pillow, the sheets still cool against her.

Now she was just going to have to get used to the idea that their feelings for each other were actually far more similar than she had realized.

Well, no matter. He should already know that.

* * *

"If I love you, what business is it of yours?" - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Edited by: Spiked Jin


	47. Chapter 47

AN: First of all, for those of you reading both stories at the same time, I warn you that they are not going to have the same timing chapter by chapter. For example, this chapter starts a day before the last posted chapter of "Realizations" did. I hope not to confuse you (or myself).

Secondly, thanks to damnedmonkeys for reminding me (lest I could ever forget) that we have just passed the one-year anniversary of both Revelations and Realizations! And that makes it a year and a half since I began Manifestations! (Repeat that three times fast.) My babies are growing up. :)

Some day I promise, I will find a way to end these things, even though it will sadden me not to be graced by all of my dear, faithful readers who've stuck through this with me for so long. But for now, I still have a little more left, so please enjoy!

"Revelations"  
By Isis  
Chapter 47

"I thought it would be more convenient this way," Lady Dorothy shrugged.

"You always pass to the left," Elena advised her.

Mr. Winner dotingly trudged along after the two women, carrying a collection of items in a box that Dorothy was randomly shuffling through as the women carried on about the room's niceties.

These were decisions that Marquis Wayridge had long ago denied any responsibility for. His beloved Elena was possibly the most proficient hostess throughout the former Romafeller members. She was often sought after for her insights and her training in such matters, and he was more than happy to allow her the run of their formal functions.

Now, it was the Lady Catalonia's turn to be educated. Which was an absolute joy for Elena, he was sure. His dear wife had held more than a few concerns for Dorothy's raising and well being under the sole direction of Duke Dermail. As the mother of four boys and only one girl, Elena was always looking for a surrogate daughter, and succeeded more times than not with the young women around her.

But Dorothy was far different. Elena actually had no idea how different. But he did. And he was determined to watch after the very young woman in the Duke's place. Not that Lady Dorothy had any inclination to being watched after, of course. In all fairness to the spirit of his most provocatively cunning ally, the Marquis would easily admit that the woman needed nothing from anyone that she could not handle by her own means.

But she was so very much like her father, and her grandfather. Stubborn to her own downfall. Any purely self-motivated indulgences were erased if they conflicted with the duties she was sworn to. A dearly impassioned soul.

And the proof of that was neatly displayed in front of him. Quatre Raberba Winner. Former Gundam pilot. Present owner of one of the largest corporations in the Colonies. And presently very endeared to the illustrious Lady.

…And obviously very well receiving of her as well.

He was as much an oddity as Dorothy herself. Rather soft-spoken, he was a seemingly quiet intellectual. His manners were gentle and calming, a vast difference from Dorothy's commanding edge and poetic frankness.

But his personal ambition was limitless. The boy had taken on the command of a combatant corp. through numerous war zones, showing tactics and strategies affective against seasoned field officers. He was a leader who knew his men and fought first among them, not from the background. Merits that the Marquis had always been impressed by.

Now, the young man was maintaining a company that could easily break a number of executives three times his age and experience. The recent example of his personal dedication to his workers was an invaluable insight into his personality. Leadership was not a quality in him, it was his very nature.

And Marquis Wayridge was sure that his dear Lady understood that quality intimately. The fact that she had found him worthy enough of her constant care and… emotional commitment had been enough for him. But after this media covered and expertly handled situation, Quatre Winner had finally elevated himself to a position where he had been found worthy enough by a select number of the others as well.

He watched carefully as Quatre and Dorothy debated back and forth over something while Elena tried to hide her humored smirk behind a hand. Apparently Quatre gave in first and shook his head as Dorothy waved it off and the three went on with their business, a smile still stuck on Quatre's face.

Marquis Wayridge would never interoperate Dorothy's affections for her, nor would he interfere with her life in the least. He was not a blood relative, and he held no sway over her. But he was concerned, and would grant her any chance that he could to allow her the option.

The dear Duke may not be amused with his thoughts at the moment, but Wayridge needed more than just one thing from the young man. And the bonus to this plan was quite enough to make up his mind.

* * *

It seemed like such a long time since he'd had her alone, Quatre hated that even the time he'd gotten was far too filled with other concerns for him to enjoy it. Maybe after all of this was done he'd invite her to stay with him for nothing in particular.

That would all depend on how this went he supposed.

Dorothy greeted the guys at the door and Quatre stayed behind the gathering group of Maguanacs who had willingly volunteered to help host this. And Quatre was humorously noting that there wasn't a man among them that had any disinclination to giving her a hearty hello and squeezing the life out of her.

No, Quatre certainly wasn't going to get to keep her all to himself. She was the sweetheart of their entire collective group. …Not that any would dare to call her sweet.

Rasid entered last, gracing Dorothy with a bow instead of a hug like the majority of the others, and she returned a curtsey to him. He wasn't sure how the two had started that, but they were cute. Their captain also added a large hand to her shoulder as they turned to the others crowding the front hallway.

Quatre really didn't mind sharing her.

* * *

Alright. He took it back. He minded sharing her.

Whether he had any right to or not was immaterial.

It was harmless. It was Dorothy. It was just her way. It was a cultural difference. It shouldn't have gotten to him.

"_Quatre, what do you think?"_

"_I like the one you won't pick," he responded without turning around. It didn't matter what he said, Dorothy would change her mind anyway. He wasn't sure why she even bothered asking._

"_He's learning. You've been around him too long," Davonte chuckled at them._

"_Why can't I ever have real help?" she threw up her hands._

"_I say the left one," Abdul came to her rescue._

"_No, no, the other one," Auda shook his head._

_With a laugh, Dorothy put down her samples and gave up. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I really have too many men in my house."_

"_If that's your feeling, I'll remove one for you," Davonte volunteered himself. "I have a previous engagement anyway." Straightening from the table he'd been propped up against, he gave the discarded samples one last look and tapped a finger to one of them. "Best of the lot."_

"_In your humble, artistic opinion," Dorothy teased him as the others surrounded the table, trying to be helpful on decorations that they knew nothing about._

_Quatre joined them as Dorothy and Von slipped towards the door._

"_Posh," he waved it off before turning back to her. "When have you ever known my opinion to be humble, beloved?"_

_Quatre tossed a look to them, finding the exchange typically amusing. But his breath froze in his lungs as he unwittingly watched Davonte lean into her with practiced ease to peck a kiss on her lips._

"_Goodnight, Von," she merely chuckled in return._

"_Hm," he politely nodded to her. "Good evening, gentlemen!" he called back to the rest of the room, which had dropped a noticeable notch in volume._

_A round of farewells returned to him as the longhaired man slipped from the room towards the front doors._

_And Quatre specifically turned back to examining the table in front of them and the task at hand, carefully masking his expression. He felt more than saw a few pairs of eyes guardedly turn his way from the guys who had caught that exchange._

_For their sake, and his own, he went on as unfazed as possible as Dorothy rejoined the group to continue on._

It was alright. It wasn't anything that Quatre hadn't been aware of, after all. Dorothy more than likely hadn't even thought a thing of it. She'd explained this at least twice before to him.

It was just a brush. Just a peck. According to Dorothy's logic it probably didn't even count. It didn't. It didn't count as a kiss….

It was a kiss though.

Yes, Dorothy had explained months ago that she was very used to exchanging a quick kiss with many of the men around here. It was normal. Typical. Davonte of course knew this too. The man probably had absolutely no reservations about it needing to mean anything at all. Just a goodnight. Just a goodbye.

Obviously Dorothy had no problems indulging that with a long time friend. Nothing special.

Just like she always did with Quatre.

Nothing special.

He turned away from his laptop monitor again, knowing he wasn't thinking of anything on the screen. Quatre turned instead to watch out the window for minute trying to contain his thoughts from getting out of hand again. He'd made it hours now without breaking down into trying to compare that kiss to any he had known from her personally. He wouldn't let himself while he was still around the others.

It shouldn't bother him. There was nothing there to bother him. It didn't mean anything.

But… it was the first time that he had watched her kiss someone else.

It was the first time that he knew a kiss really didn't have to hold any meaning at all to her. Was that what it had looked like the first time she kissed him? Had it been that quick? That soft? That unpresumptuous?

Silently he wondered if maybe that kiss hadn't been his first… if he would have thought anything of it himself.

Yes. Even if he'd had Dorothy's type of experience with the purely physical side of little kisses between people, he was sure he would have felt the same at her touch. Playing through that night again, the fondly held memory began to mock him. She had merely pecked a parting kiss on him and turned away. Maybe it was exactly like what she did with Davonte tonight. She had, of course, assured him only a few months ago that their first kiss had meant something to her, and he tried not to doubt her.

But it just couldn't possibly have meant the same thing to her as it did to him. He doubted she ever even thought back to that night. Probably didn't give it a passing thought these days. And a kiss between them was probably no different to her now than a kiss between her and anyone else….

That hurt.

Quatre didn't mean to take it like this. Didn't mean to be jealous. He didn't want to be.

The assortment of pet names had been a little troubling the first time or two he'd heard Von call her "beloved," but it was just the artist's way. It was Dorothy's way.

No, he really wasn't jealous. He was… he didn't know.

Dorothy had been twelve when Davonte entered her life, and he seemed to have had a truly profound impact on her from what she said last night. Though it was none of his business, he wondered if either had ever wanted more. In seven years they were still just friends… with nothing more serious than a meaningless peck goodnight between them to show for it.

The thought made him close his eyes with a sigh and turn back to the ignored laptop.

Quatre was disgusted with himself. He was trying to over analyze his entire relationship with her because of a tiny little show of affection to someone else. This was pointless.

Closing down the computer he moved it to the desk at the corner of the room and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He had to get his thoughts to settle and get some sleep. Their discussion last night had kept him awake for hours, and it was getting late tonight too.

He was obsessing over everything these days, wasn't he? He was just taking this badly for some reason. Some sleep would do him good.

Drying off again, he glanced at himself in the mirror. _"Sometimes you seem so sad when you do that. What is it that keeps bothering you?" _

* * *

"Do you really think she's seeing him?" Auda wondered to no one in particular.

Abdul and Manul stopped cold; Ahmed glanced back and forth between them. "Who what?" he asked, confused.

"You missed it," Manul informed him. "Davonte… kissed Lady Dorothy before he left tonight."

"He what?" the shorter man cried, almost falling over backwards out of the chair he was propping back in.

"Quiet!" the others chided him.

They were gathered in a room across the hallway from the apartment that Master Quatre, and Mistress Dorothy's rooms were in, but they didn't want to draw the entire Corp.'s attention.

"He couldn't have," Ahmed shook his head. "You're trying to get me," he laughed.

The other three men in the room didn't appear to be joking though.

Looking around at the others, he dropped his chair back to all four legs and leaned across to where Abdul was lounged in another chair. Grabbing the man's vest, Ahmed pulled him closer and looked down behind his sunglasses. "Say that again," he slowly stated.

Abdul wasn't a very good liar, even if they were just teasing. That, and the eye injury when he was teenager, was the reason he wore those sunglasses constantly. "Get off me!" he snapped.

Ahmed let go and leaned back in his seat, twitching his mustache as he looked at the other two. "Right in front of Master Quatre?" he blinked.

"I'm not sure he saw it," Auda commented.

"He saw it," Manul confirmed. "But if it surprised him, he didn't show it. Which for Master Quatre is saying a lot."

"But…" Abdul trailed out, all of them thinking the same thing.

It wasn't hard for any of them to realize that Master Quatre was far more affectionate towards her than he was with anyone else. The two had been declared a couple already by the rest of the Corp. and no one intended to get between that. Teasing them, yes. But they wouldn't interfere.

"What kind of kiss are we talking 'bout?" Ahmed put back in. "If I missed it, then it wasn't much."

"It wasn't," Auda hastily assured them.

"But it was… practiced," Manul fought for the right word.

"It was what?" Abdul muttered.

"Like they've done it before. It wasn't anything new," he clarified.

"It was just a kiss goodbye," Auda put in again.

"Yeah, but she _kissed_ him goodbye," Abdul sighed.

"Do you think she's seeing him?" Auda asked again.

"No way," Abdul shook it off quickly.

"If she is, Master Quatre knows about it. Like I said, he wasn't surprised," Manul added more cautiously.

"But it's Mistress Dorothy!" Abdul threw a hand up. "Come on. She's not dating some random artist guy. She's got Master Quatre already," he shook his head.

"Ah, you're making too much out of this," Ahmed brushed it off, still not really believing them.

"He's never said anything official, and you know he would," Manul cautioned them again. "I'm not sure he's won her over quite yet."

The other three jeered him for that type of wording, but he defended himself. Lady Dorothy was still available to see or date anyone she chose, and Master Quatre obviously felt he didn't have any right to intervene.

"Well…" Abdul smiled, "maybe she just needs a little push in the right direction."

"Master Quatre would kill us," Auda warned him.

"And the Captain wouldn't bring our bodies back for burial," Ahmed continued.

"If she's already seeing him, then there's nothing to be done anyway," Manul nodded. "We don't even know if Master Quatre is actually interested…."

He trailed out as the group exchanged looks and smirks between themselves. "Don't we?" Abdul raised an eyebrow.

The air hung heavy and silent for only a second longer.

* * *

"Morning," he mumbled to the men who opened the door for him. "Or is it afternoon?" Davonte mumbled.

"Still morning," Auda reassured with an arm slung around his shoulders.

Davonte stopped and looked up a little at him, not used to having to do that with much of anyone. "Oh?" Casting a sideways glance at the other two men around him, he got a sinking suspicion that they had been waiting for him.

"Von, we need a little information," Ahmed stood in front of him with a friendly-ish grin.

"I think you should wear more green," he tried and gave them an apologetic smirk. The men chuckled and shook their heads. Well, that was good sign… he supposed.

"Not that kind of information."

"Green, huh?"

* * *

"Lady Dorothy?"

"Come in, Manul," she turned as he came into the room and quietly closed the door to the expansive office behind himself.

"May I ask a little advice?" he began, nervously checking to see that the other door and windows were all closed.

Dorothy blinked at him and nodded, motioning him towards a chair as she took a seat beside it in front of the desk. "You haven't even hit your honeymoon yet, what advice could you possibly need?" she teased.

"Well," he paused and sat down next to her, staring down at the carpet. "I'm just… nervous," he very quietly told her. "You're the only woman who I think will give me an honest answer."

With a giggle, Dorothy settled herself in to listen to him, and Manul bit back the smile. "What on Earth am I going to be able to tell you?"

"You're a very cultured and… individualistic type of woman," he began.

Her laugh stopped him though as she tried to cover the cackle. "You boys do need to get to know me better."

Raising his eyes enough to flash her a smile, he continued on. "Tell me… what you'd look for in a husband?"

She balked at him. "What?"

With a shrug he lowered his eyes to the floor again. "I… want to do this right."

Instead of graciously explaining her viewpoint of the perfect man with him, as he expected—considering every other woman he knew was taking his engagement as a good chance to do so—she only laughed at him harder this time. Rising to her feet, she leaned over him and gently took his face in her hands and looked him right in the eye. "Manul," she chuckled at him. "After this, go home, take Nashita in your arms, and kiss these stupid ideas straight out of your head."

Blinking at her in shock he sat and looked up at her. "Mistress?"

"This is what hanging around the guys will do to you," she sighed, releasing him and straightening again. "She said yes, darling. Don't worry. If you're not exactly how she wants you already she'll fix you later," Dorothy happily informed him. "Next question?" she raised an eyebrow.

Manul swallowed.

* * *

"What the devil gave you that idea?" Davonte stared at them. "You nomads have been in the sun too long."

"So… that's a no?" Abdul asked for sure.

"Emphatically," he over-pronounced.

The three exchanged glances and blank looks. "Then…" Auda sighed. "But you kissed her."

"So? I'd kiss your mother too. I'm lonely!" he shrugged in exasperation. "Who isn't going to kiss her—you should try it," he dropped to a heavy insinuation.

All three men about choked and took a step back from him.

"Love this bit of Europe for that," he mused. "I took a sabbatical to Japan once. About had a woman go Samurai on me. …I had her number somewhere."

Leaning over, Abdul carefully kept an eye on the man sitting in front of them and whispered to Ahmed. "And we really thought this guy was competition?"

* * *

Andrew Varnhem pulled the car into the private drive and up to the side entrances. Listening to Ry and Alli gasp at the sight of the chateau had been a slightly odd feeling. The building was easily the most impressive privately owned structure in the area; he well understood that. He supposed he was simply used to it, having been traipsed through it for endless occasions since he was old enough to walk.

Then of course there was the fact that he and Byron were regular guests of the young Miss of the house. …Now the young Lady. _Lady_ Dorothy Catalonia still just didn't sound right to him.

Byron readily led the charge, grabbing his luggage from the trunk and ushering their second car's occupants towards the building. Miss Relena and Agent Yuy followed him to the second entrance through the rose garden gate and the sunroom porch rather than through the kitchen. Andrew followed along, trailing Ry, Alli and Delano.

The house was different to him now as well. Walking through the familiar rooms and into the grand hallway, Andrew found himself taking in the sights of the place as well as the rest of the group was. The flooring had been taken up and the underlying wood floors polished and revived along with the baseboards and the chair rail. The plaster had been retextured and painted, covering the old, stately burgundy with a creamy peach. The arched ceiling reflected back the antique chandelier light with a pale gold.

It was distinctly Dorothy… which felt strange. The rooms were brightened, many of the heavy drapes removed or replaced. The woodwork that had been painted over the years of the chateau's owners had been striped, polished and stained back to the original dark luster, accenting the changes in lighting.

It was no longer the same feeling that the intimidating building had held before. The gloating superiority of the place had been softened around the edges, but losing none of its grand and commanding edge.

Distinctly Dorothy.

That's what felt odd. Many people here remembered Romafeller's Mistress as being built from the same gray stone as the building itself. Just as strong, regal, distinguished and cold. Dorothy was never a warm-hearted woman. She didn't mix emotions where they didn't belong, and she never took a rival for granted.

She was smart, calculating, cunning beyond even the senate's expectations. Most of the Foundation had overheard her grandfather semi-affectionately refer to her as his "bloodhound." Dorothy had a sixth sense. Place her in room and she could seek out the strongest among them. She could size up a person's worth from a single encounter.

She never bothered her affections with anything, or anyone, less than herself. …It was a hard status to live up to.

Down the hallway ahead of them a couple men and a platinum blond came around the corner at their approach. However, the person in the lead was not the Lady of the chateau, but her… escort.

Quatre Raberba Winner. The teenaged corporate president to a multibillion-credit company with a foothold in every colony cluster and massive import channels to Earth. The newly proclaimed "humanitarian" business owner, which had peaked in media exposure during the last few weeks.

He was also an undercover, civilian Preventers Special Agent.

…And then some.

A rather average young man by stature, endowed with a collection of soft features, boyish looks, and outwardly emotional expressions. But it was there, somewhere. The nightmares that Dorothy had spoken of. The piece of him that drew her.

That something that Andrew didn't possess.

He watched quietly as the men greeted their group. Quatre wrapped Miss Relena in a warm hug as they laughed over something, the familiarity unmistakable, and directly in front of Agent Yuy.

Mentally, Andrew scrutinized him again. _I have been reminded that if the General has found you worthy, I am in no position to question her. However, worth will only get you so far. I do hope you're sincere with her, Mr. Winner; I will not make this a habit._

* * *

Quatre happily slipped out the door and down the stair studded path to the drive in front of the chateau as Duo stood gaping up at the building from his place beside the open door to the taxi. Hilde was staring upwards from her position in the back seat still where she had apparently crawled over to peer out the door Duo had exited from.

He'd been looking for the two to arrive for the last hour, and hadn't wanted to miss their reaction to the house. Trying to bite down his laugh, he slipped along towards them until he was within hearing. "Hello. Did you have a nice trip?" he sidestepped the obvious.

"All this and she can't fix her eyebrows?" Duo muttered.

Oh, not that again. Quatre rolled his eyes and stepped up to offer Hilde a hand out from the back of the car. "Hi, Quatre," she said instead once he'd blocked her view of the chateau beyond. "Cozy little place, huh?"

With a laugh he nodded and pulled her out of the car. "I don't think cozy was a word anyone thought of when this was built."

Duo just shook his head as the driver popped the truck for them to get their bags. "You remember that 'gold-digger' conversation we had?" Quatre gave a smile to his friend as the other finally turned away from the sight of the building to slap a hand on his shoulder. "Good job," he grinned.

"I am not," he laughingly defended himself.

"Yeah," Hilde added, getting her bags from the trunk. "When you two tie the knot and don't need all of these extra little houses, you be sure to remember your friends, OK?" she teased him and gave him an elbow to the side on her way back around.

Shaking his head, he really had no way to respond to that. Duo collected his stuff as Hilde paid the driver and he escorted the two up the steps to the front door.

* * *

"Heero's not real enthused about the two newbies, is he?" Duo sideways asked as Quatre linked up the headset with their security system.

"It's a lot of politics," he responded.

"How's that?" Keeping a casual eye on the group at the far side of the massive library they had taken over as the command center for their security monitoring station, he pestered Quatre for a couple answers.

"There are some hurt feelings in all of this," Quatre quietly returned, not looking up from his work. "I'd rather not go into all of it."

"Come on. Fill me in," he pried. "I just got one of Heero's gruelings that they don't know, and we aren't going to tell them." Alright, so it had been a two sentence conversation, but Duo knew their teammate quite well by now, and the guy was being extra cautious of them for some reason.

With a little sigh, Quatre nodded to himself and then flashed a look his direction. "They're both of Romafeller bloodlines," he very quietly informed him. "Heero is concerned, is all."

"Romafeller?" Duo repeated, throwing the two a look again. "So… Heero probably doesn't find it a nice coincidence that they showed up on Relena's doorstep."

"I doubt it was."

He started and threw a look back to his friend beside him who had gone back to his preparations. "What? You mean Dorothy?" he asked, figuring the woman had a finger in every pie that still held any resemblance to the organization formerly known as Romafeller.

"I don't know. I don't think so," Quatre slowly replied. "But with connections like that, I doubt anyone expects them to stay at officer's ranks for long."

"So… maybe they aren't really good guys?" he tried to make sense out of that.

Quatre shook his head though. "I don't think that at all. But I'm sure it won't do us any good to get people with connections curious about us personally."

"Yeah," Duo slowly agreed, still watching the group. At the moment Hilde was happily conversing with Relena and the two men in question. But that one guy, Byron, seemed to be just a little too focused on his girlfriend. "We'll just have to watch 'em."

* * *

"So, where are you from?" Byron asked, making conversation with her as the others went on with their preparation work. Relena had been called away to meet with Dorothy and the Marquis guy. Duo and Heero were out in the gardens trying to break the security system. And Quatre and Andrew were standing at the station waiting for their progress.

"L2," she replied.

"Ah, colony girl," he nodded, slouching back on his side of the couch next to her. "Cool."

With a giggle, she nodded. "You?"

"Here," he flashed her a cheerful smile.

"You mean Earth?" she asked, finding that she was getting to like this guy. He had a few quirks that definitely reminded her of one longhaired man in her life.

"No, no. I mean here," he shook his head. "This is my hometown."

"Really?" she blinked.

"Yeah. Go back down the road, take the first left you find and mine is the third estate you come to," he chuckled.

"Oh, you're not kidding," she mumbled. "Then… you probably knew Dorothy?"

Byron gave her a good laugh for that one. "No, not at all. We just went to school with her and saw her about everyday our lives," he teased.

"We?" she questioned.

He nodded and then tipped his head over to indicate the two men standing silently next to each other in front of the displays. "Andrew and I grew up together too. If you follow my directions, keep going until you find another left back up the hill again and take it until you find their gate. Or you can cheat and run out the back door," he nodded to the windows on the other side of the room, "across the lawn, through the lake, over the little creek in the trees, and you come out in their horse pasture."

Hilde started. "So, when you say here, you really mean _here_."

Laughing again he nodded. "Yeah. I'm guessing that's why we're assigned to this. It's not like we don't know this place by heart."

She gave him a happily mischievous smile. Oh, Duo would love to find out that they had a bona fide Dorothy expert or two around here. …Maybe she shouldn't tell him.

"He's starting."

Hilde and Byron both turned to watch as Quatre's announcement met their ears too. "Duo?" she asked.

"Yeah," Quatre turned to give her a smile. "Hopefully we'll give him a little bit of a challenge."

"You're sure he'll beat the security grid?" Andrew asked from beside him.

"If anyone can, it'll be Duo," Hilde easily stated, glancing at the monitors that still showed no signs of anyone being in the gardens outside.

"She's right," Quatre nodded, turning back to keep an eye on their sensors.

"So, this guy has a specialty with security systems?" Byron asked seemingly no one in particular.

"You could say that," she gave him a smile.

"Duo is an expert in stealth and infiltration," Quatre added as well, not turning from the displays.

"Stealth?" Byron snickered before she caught his eye with a warning look. "Oh, yeah, stealthy. Sure, I see it," he backpedaled.

Hilde turned her look forward again as she notice Quatre trying to cover a chuckle too. "Alright, so he's a little talkative the rest of the time," she shrugged in resignation.

"Well, that hasn't hindered him yet," Andrew quietly observed, still just waiting for a sensor relay to trip.

"Are we tracking what he's actually doing?" Hilde asked instead, curious.

"Heero is," Quatre nodded to this displays. "He's tracking his actual route. If Duo makes it through, it should give us enough information to tighten the grid as much as we can."

"You're not really expecting to perfect it," Andrew observed, giving Quatre a look beside him.

Hilde watched a second, sensing more then seeing something in the two's postures as Quatre shook his head no. "It's not going to be possible with this situation."

Andrew simply nodded, not challenging that as the two went back to looking for the sensors to pick up something.

It seemed weird. She blinked at Quatre's back for a second, wondering at him. He was always a warm person to everyone. But there was something that lingered in the absolute silence that hung between them as the two men stood there, doing nothing but their jobs.

Noticing something else, she turned her eyes to the man beside her, as Byron seemed to be studying the same thing. Catching her looking, he flashed her a smile but didn't say anything. "So, near side or far side of L2?"

"Near," she responded. "Colony 185763."

"One of the older ones," Byron nodded. "So, when you're not protecting Vice Ministers and watching guys sneak through security grids, what do you do?" he smiled.

With a laugh she turned a little on the couch to face him, but once again the uncomfortable silence that was hanging heavy in the air of the room in front of them got to her again. When you date someone who can't stand dead air, you began to notice it a lot more in other people. Throwing the two a look, she made sure they were doing nothing but focusing on the blank monitors again.

Snapping out of it, she turned back to the question. "I run a salvage yard actually."

"You run a what?" he asked.

With a giggle she nodded. "I run a pick and pull in the outskirts. Duo handles the full service orders and some repair work on the side. I tease him that he's really just the delivery boy though."

Both eyebrows rose at that. "Oh. So you two are really… together a lot," he mumbled in surprise.

Laughing, she nodded, but wasn't really sure how to tell him that that was an understatement.

"Now… what's a pick and pull?" he went on.

Hilde blinked at him curiously. "You've never really gone to a junk yard before, have you?" she slowly asked. Well, duh. Growing up around here she doubted he probably would.

"Um… maybe?" he tried to defend himself.

With a snicker, she shook her head. "It's where you come for the part you need, and if we have it, you can go pull it out of whatever it's in yourself and save the fees of us doing it for you."

It took a second for that to apparently sink in. "So, I'm guessing that you don't manage a big building full of rows of neat little boxes of spare parts."

"Uh, no," she tried not to laugh. "I own a big piece of ground with lots of junked out hunks of you name it."

Byron looked at her a little oddly and gave her a suspicious look. "You really don't seem like the type," he very quietly confessed.

"Because I'm not a big, chunky guy with a beard?" she nodded. "You have no idea how often I get that."

That got him to crack up laughing and she turned back to see if the other two had spotted their intruder yet… only to be faced with the same silent patience from them. Finally, she cast Quatre's back a worried look. Obviously he wasn't Duo, but still, it was just odd that he wasn't making some type of friendly chitchat, or something. Maybe he needed an icebreaker with this new guy?

She opened her mouth to try to make a conversation with the other two but stopped as Byron silently got her attention again. Giving her a tiny little resigned smile, he glanced in the other two's direction before turning back and shaking his head.

Wait a minute. What did this guy know that she didn't? With a specific look at their backs she turned to her new accomplice and mouthed "What?" with a shrug.

"Don't tell me I missed it," came an unmistakable voice from the back of the room. Dorothy sauntered in, swishing by them to hop up on a side table where she could see the monitors too. "I was so hoping to see our little devil in action."

"We're still waiting too," Quatre soothed her, granting her a smile as she crossed her legs and settled in.

Hilde turned back to Byron when she heard the quiet snort from him. Catching her eye, he gave her a specific look and nodded towards Dorothy's newly chosen spot.

Hilde only shook her head, not understanding. Was this something to do with Dorothy? Well now, he'd said that they all knew each other. That was something…. Widening her eyes, she covertly cast a glace around the three people in front of them now as they were chatting a little, the silence apparently evaporating into broken comments.

When she looked back at Byron she nodded from Andrew to Dorothy with a raised eyebrow. The man gave her weak smile and an almost sorrowful sigh. "Yeah," he whispered.

Oh dear. That couldn't be good.

"You know, I'd be so much more impressed if we had a camera catch him tripping and breaking his nose," Dorothy muttered.

"Well, it's a good thing I don't want to impress you, isn't it?" came indignant voice from the doorway as Duo comically sauntered in, completely unfazed apparently.

Quatre groaned to himself and stopped the timer that Duo had insisted he use. "You could have spared my feelings a little," he said, turning as Duo came up between him and Andrew to see the monitors.

"I did. I got lost _inside_ this house," he grumbled.

They laughed and Quatre moved to signal to Heero that they were finished with the run. "I guess we should have at least given you the tour first."

Dorothy laughed. "Well, at least we know you are good for something."

"You just don't know how special my talents are," Duo stated and stepped over to actually take a seat next to the Lady, casting Hilde a wink in the process.

"And may I stay that way," she snipped.

"You've got quite the grounds out there, Cat. How many bodies can you hide back there?"

"Always room for one more."

"Oh, please don't start," Quatre pleaded with them. "This is for Miss Relena. Tell me you're going to try to be nice."

Both of the longhaired individuals sat and looked at him blankly for a second before tossing each other a look and then back again. "Ah, come on Q, you know us," Duo grinned at him.

"What would the fun be in that?" Dorothy observed.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hilde piped in, rising to her feet and coming to Quatre's rescue. "One more stunt like that scene at Relena's and I'll slap both of you."

"Thank you, Miss Hilde," Quatre gloated.

Dorothy gave her a surprised look and Duo nodded solemnly with a little pout. Satisfied she turned to go back to her place on the couch.

She stopped when the nearly silent room was interrupted by Dorothy's little sideways whisper. "So… is that your usual turn on?"

"Hey! Off limits, brows."

Hilde just sighed miserably.

* * *

"She's cute," Byron mumbled to himself after Hilde and Duo left the room.

"She's taken," Dorothy chuckled at him.

"What? No!" he complained, stretching out to lie on the couch. "That guy?" he nodded back to the doorway.

Dorothy hummed a confirmation to him.

"How did you not notice that?" Andrew asked, stepping over to the edge of the couch.

"All this time and you still haven't gotten anywhere," Dorothy comically shook her head. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Hey, I took your crappy dating advice for five years and we know how well that worked!" he snipped back at her.

Quatre broke a laugh and then quickly tried to swallow it when she threw him a nasty look. "Sorry," he quietly mumbled trying to cover the smile he couldn't get off his face.

"This is all the thanks I get," she threw up a hand to dismiss them. "I try to be nice and prod you poor, love-starved men along, and I get nothing but grief for my endeavors."

"Oh, break out the violins. We're burning another martyr," he rolled his eyes at her.

"Come now, dear Byron. Whatever happened to… what was her name?" Dorothy paused to think.

"Jena," Andrew supplied.

"Oh, yeah!" Byron happily recognized the name of the drop-dead gorgeous redhead he'd had his eye on for most of year. "Yeah. That really didn't work out, did it Drew? What'd you have to tell her? You weren't really interested," he harassed the man.

"Wasn't my fault. I tried," he bitterly returned.

"Andrew!" Dorothy chided. "Can't you find your own date yet? You're always stealing poor Byron's," she teased, snickering at them.

It never failed. Any woman he was actively pursuing only wanted to get closer to his friend instead. "Oh, shut up," Byron grumbled at her. "With friends like you two, it's no wonder no sane woman comes near me." Closing his eyes on them, he pillowed his head in his hands on the couch cushions. "Besides, at least you found Leilalie all by your little self," he shamelessly resorted to using his cute voice.

There was a loud sigh from his friend and Byron popped an eye back open to look up at him, only to get a good shot of the annoyed expression the guy was throwing at him.

"What?" he shrugged.

"…Leilalie?" Dorothy positively purred.

"Oh, that what," he mumbled before looking back to Dorothy and cringing.

"She's a lovely, respectable person," Andrew only mildly defended himself.

"Oh, I would never think anything less of her," Dorothy returned, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Apparently the only person in the room whom didn't know what she really thought of the young lady in question was Quatre, who was intelligently staying quiet and keeping a low profile for the moment.

"I just would have never seen that coming, is all," Dorothy quietly went on musing to herself.

"It's nothing anyway," Andrew responded, turning back his direction. But between the look in his eyes and the clench of his jaw, the guy was anything but pleased with Byron's little slip up.

So, he figured what the heck. "Oh yeah. Nothing but a cozy little on again, off again relationship with assorted random dates for no apparent function," he smiled in challenge to the man to defend himself.

Andrew wasn't amused. …And he also couldn't backpedal out of that.

"Well now," Dorothy interrupted again. "You do know that she's on the guest list to come to this soiree, don't you?"

"Yes, I heard," he backed down the glare he was giving Byron to return an uninterested look to her again. "Under the invitation of the new Senator Bridgeport."

"I had thought that was an odd combination," she shook her head, sidestepping from going any farther with teasing him. Dots knew when to back down too. "Of course, I also found it odd that anyone voted in Mr. Bridgeport."

"He's had his eye on a seat since the end of the war. That wasn't any secret," Andrew informed her.

"Ah. Well," Dorothy added her typical smirk and slipped off the table she'd been lounging on to head towards the door. "I suppose you can woo her in full uniform for a night," she tossed back as she happily left the room, her giggle echoing back to them.

Byron tried not to laugh at it, but as soon as Andrew sighed in utter defeat, he couldn't help it anymore. Some things never change.

* * *

"Davonte, may I ask you for a little information?"

"Oh, I swear by my own grave, no!" The man turned around to face him like he'd been shot. Seeing that it was only Quatre, he blinked and meekly backed down the reaction to give him a smile. "Probably not the same topic," he laughed at himself. "What may I do for you?"

Quatre stood very still and watched for a second just in case the man really did come unglued for some reason. "Um… I was just wondering if you had ever heard the name Lalala. Or something like that." He cringed, sure he didn't have that right.

Davonte laughed outright and nodded, waving him over to the table where he was currently adding an artist's touch to the wax carvings that were set to be part of the floral arrangements for the centerpieces. "Lay-la-lie," he pronounced phonetically for him. "Leilalie Wayridge."

"Wayridge?" he blinked, coming up to his side as the man sat perched on a tall stool aside the worktable.

"The Marquis' granddaughter," he confirmed. Blowing the excess wax from the mold he was working with, he started again on it with a sharp pick of some sort. "Don't tell me she's caught your eye too?" he hummed.

With a shrug Quatre shook his head. "I haven't met her. I just heard the name in passing and… was curious." Very curious actually. With the reaction that this person's name had on Dorothy—and subsequently the reaction that caused in Andrew—he had decided to snoop a little.

"Right. Well, it is a frequent name to get passed," Von chuckled. "Miss Leilalie and our own precious Dorothy are somewhat commonly referred to as 'the twins'."

"Twins?"

There was a mischievous glint to the man's honey colored eyes as he looked over the wax mold to him. "They are about a month apart in age and grew up here in town. That, and the comparable hairstyles, are the absolute extent of their similarities."

That wasn't much. Watching the other go back to his work, Quatre found that odd. "They're called twins but they're nothing alike?"

"That's exactly why they're called twins," Davonte chuckled. "Leilalie is the ruling 'princess' over the available women of the circle. She has been since she was ten or eleven probably. You're talking about easily the most sought after woman in this part of the world."

That was a surprise. "Really?"

"Well… since our mistress left, of course," he raised his eyes to him again enough to wink.

That didn't add up right. At least not from what Quatre had gleaned from Dorothy's stories of her place here. "I'm not sure I'm following you."

"Women of title. Light verses dark," Von continued with typical theatrics. "Dorothy of course being the dark one. Demure verses virile, gentle grace verses grace under fire, sweet innocence verses ambitious power…."

"Leilalie is a more typical Romafeller lady then." The trophy wives that Dorothy had told him the Foundation trained their girls to be.

"Oh, quite," he nodded, meeting his eyes again. "Leilalie is forever the woman every mother wants as a daughter-in-law, but Dorothy is the fantasy of every man in the room. And that is only half of the reason she's dubbed 'the Mistress'."

Quatre looked at him, shocked by that. Her manipulation of the men of the Foundation wasn't accepted well by the women around her. He could understand that. But this was a different reasoning than Dorothy had given him as to why she'd being given that nickname.

With a hum, the elder man continued back to work. "Simple really. A beauty verses a charmer."

…So Dorothy had seemingly lost Andrew to her childhood rival.

* * *

"A beauty is a woman you notice; a charmer is one who notices you." – Adlai Stevenson 


	48. Chapter 48

AN: Welcome one and all to the grand opening of the NOVEL _Revelations_. After passing the eight hundred page mark on this story alone (which MS Word does not appreciate, mind you) I have decided to stop considering this a short story. So, from now on, "Revelations" will become _Revelations_. Cool, huh?

Now, who else thinks I'm a Carpal Tunnel patient waiting to happen? (Isis raised her slightly deformed hand that is permanently bent in the typing position.) Alright, no, not really. But you guys had better be enjoying this!

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 48 

She was annoyed. Irritated. Incensed actually.

She was jealous.

Lady Dorothy Catalonia was jealous.

Of a… mild, tender, sweet, beautiful girl.

And over someone whom she cared nothing about ever holding a relationship with!

She had every reason to be annoyed. With herself, of course. Pieces of her were mildly thrilled with the idea of Andrew and Leilalie. A wonderfully delicious pair, actually she found the thought warming. And, if everything fell into place just right, Andrew may well end up someday holding his Marquis son in his arms.

Marquis Wayridge lost three of his sons in battle; the fourth was a priest instead of a solider and would not be having children. His only daughter had married and borne two girls, neither in their teens yet. Leilalie was the eldest child of the eldest son, and it would be only a matter of time. Her grandfather would pass on, and her uncle the cleric would probably rescind his right to the title, passing it quickly down to his niece's heir.

It was a lot of pedigree work, but it was something every title-hunting noble in this community knew instinctually. It was really no different from Dorothy's own predicament. She held within her womb—so to speak—the title of Duke. And unless Great Uncle Marvin stopped drooling long enough to fight her for the title before she had a son, it would remain her prize to be captured.

Should her great uncle ever try to take it though, she would toss it at him willingly. The chateau and the properties were hers by will and testament. Carrying a title like a genetic disease wasn't to her taste anyway. And should dear, senile Marvin pass on, he had an eldest whom would more than likely make up for lost time on this particular subject.

It was a race to see who could court the ill-fated affections of the bearer of such a trophy. Before it was hers, it had been Dorothy's mother's choir to carry ever since it became apparent that the Duke and Duchess would not be having any other children. Looking down at the ring on her finger, she wondered if she hadn't just stumbled onto a reason for it that she hadn't thought of before.

A woman of as much significance as most of the Foundation ever gave them credit for, had been taken in by a non-titled, comparatively lower income, newcomer of a frontlines General. Had he seemed the rogue solider, rough and ready to the dainty mind of her dear mother? Someone not after her inheritance, but actually interested in her heart?

Dorothy somehow found that quite amusing.

She remembered her father in bits and pieces, more in feelings than in memories. But he was anything but the battle-ready hero. He was kind, protective, sincere. He was a father… and a husband, she assumed.

They were a horrible couple.

Continuing her vigil of staring out the music room's doors, she twisted the ring around her finger. Her mother's wedding ring. Her father had worn one too, but it had been blown to bits with his body, she assumed.

Well, that was a little morbid.

But they really were a destined couple. A match made to fail in misery. Like every great love story, they had overcome every obstacle except for an early death. How truly sad.

Had her mother married as she was supposed to, she would probably still be alive. Dorothy would have technically forfeited her existence, but she didn't claim to be anything worthy of such cosmic concern that she couldn't have been replaced by her half-DNA counterpart….

Still morbid. That must be her mood for the evening.

That didn't explain why she was feeling defensive about Andrew seeing Leilalie. She couldn't fault him, and in truth she should be wonderfully thrilled that he had moved on from her.

That was it, wasn't it? She didn't really want to keep him, she just liked the thought that he was there. How terribly selfish. But it wasn't like it was an overwhelming desire in her. Truthfully "jealous" was probably too strong of a word. She should just forget it. She was dwelling more on being annoyed over the reaction than she'd spent on the actual feeling.

She wished she'd brought Deimos with her. He was a wonderful little fuzzy distraction when her thoughts hounded her like this. Idly she wondered how he was getting along at Felicia's house. Her little kitty and her friendly maid were on the best of terms with each other, so she doubted there was any trouble.

Leilalie. Miss Leilalie Wayridge. The woman was the duplicate of her grandmother. Never a derogatory word or thought had ever crossed through her gorgeous little head. The woman was perfect for a Romafeller elite. Andrew would make an excellent choice. Although technically without title due to his uncle's annoying habit of still being alive somewhere frivolously scattering his share of the family inheritance, Andrew would still be the one to take the family name on.

The name of Varnhem was still held in the circle with a reverence. As Dermail used to be.

Catalonia was basically a waste of breath.

The idea that her mother had married poorly and got what she deserved had crossed Dorothy's mind more than once over the years.

Viciously, she twisted the ring all the way off her finger and stared down at it in the blue of the early night's lighting. What was with this stupid idea of falling in love? Was it enough to save her father's life? Wasn't it what finally drove her mother to lose her mind?

_You just had to be different_, she accused. _Now look what you two have created. Didn't you ever bother to think that someday maybe I wouldn't want to be different?_

Quietly she let the mental outburst slide away. Slowly, she slipped the ring back onto her finger. Her mother had been the woman she was supposed to be, sweet and docile, beautiful and faithful. Her father had been the solider he was supposed to be, courageous and self-sacrificing.

It was their attraction to each other that had set off this chain of events. Hadn't either ever paused to think that they didn't belong together?

But here she was. The true embodiment of them. The woman that she wasn't supposed to be….

Had it been worth it?

She shouldn't think that. Dorothy couldn't spare the emotional control to wonder over things like that.

But that was what this ring reminded her of every day. Apparently… apparently they had thought it was. …Worth it.

"You know," a voice quietly began from over her shoulder, "you said I seem sad when I do this. What does that make you?"

Settling herself from being scared out of her thoughts, she still didn't turn around. "Confused."

"About?" Quatre prodded, stepped up just behind her.

Did she know? "Would 'everything' be a good enough answer?"

"Sure," he allowed her to sidestep. "…How's your mother?" he asked, sounding perfectly conversational.

It was enough to get her to chuckle at him. Realizing that she was still fiddling with the thing on her finger, she shook her head. "Dead."

"And her memory?" he tried anyway.

With a sigh she finally turned to look back at him. "Getting cursed out quiet well tonight," she answered with a smile. It was true enough.

With a nod, he stepped up to stand by her side with a smile. "Glad to know I'm not the only one that does that with their parents."

"I think that's probably normal," she confided.

"I'll believe that if you do," he agreed.

They both laughed and she softly looked back down at her hand. "Some days I can say that I'm nothing like my mother, and others I'm annoyed how similar I am."

"And which is today?"

Looking over at him, she quietly studied him a minute. "Both."

Quatre chuckled, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Which adds to the confusion, I'm guessing?"

"Quite."

With a hum of acknowledgment he turned away and started back for the doors. Dorothy turned and watched him go, a little surprised that he was just leaving her here. He hadn't even actually asked if she was all right yet.

Danged men never stay on script. Turning back to the window, she gave the view beyond a glare for it instead.

Of course, that was went the lights flipped on. Turning again, Quatre had merely turned on the overhead chandelier and was now walking towards the piano. "May I admit to a guilty conscience?" he careful asked, not looking towards her.

Intrigued by an opening like that, Dorothy slowly walked towards him as he raised the key cover on the grand piano. "Confession is good for the soul."

Without expounding on anything farther, he stared down at the keys a minute before tentatively placing one hand to the ivory and picking out a few bars of a tune that she would recognize anywhere. He stopped when he hit a wrong note and they both recognized it. "You can tell I haven't gotten this memorized."

It was enough though to melt her heart. Dearest Quatre.

"It's alright," she soothed. Stepping over she knelt down next to the piano bench and lifted the seat to reveal the old music books of her mother's that hadn't been moved by anyone in years. Set right on top was the single music sheet of the song he'd been picking out. "Raindrops." Her mother's favorite piece.

The music sheet showed it too. Carefully she took the worn, yellowing piece and unfolded it as she rose to place it out on the music stand. Turning, she caught Quatre's eye. He was obviously watching her closely, probably wondering how she'd take hearing the song again.

With a smile, she turned back and smoothed the creases of the paper down again. "I think I can ease your bad conscience."

She didn't mind in the least. The fact that he'd found this song and had practiced it on his own was terribly endearing actually. Quatre closed the storage box of the seat and sat down, gently taking her hand and tugging her down beside him before taking an expert look at the music before him. "She made notes to herself," he observed.

Dorothy leaned in a bit to look over his shoulder as he brought the music down to study it, wanting the comfort more than the view. The little faded pencil markings here and there over the music staffs seemed to hold some odd type of fascination to him that she obviously didn't understand. "What do they mean?"

"They're just reminders basically." Tapping a finger over a particular section, he chuckled. "She added a descant through here though," he pointed to a section of notes that were penciled in above the printed music. "And changed the tempo markings for this section," he moved to point to a couple scribbles on the last page. Turning away he looked at her. "Did she ever write her own music?" he curiously asked.

She gave him a blank look and shrugged. "Not that I know of. But if she did we're sitting on it."

Quatre chuckled and added the music sheet back to the stand. "Well, I'm sure I'm not going to be anywhere near as good at this as your mother," he started. "But we'll give it a try."

Dorothy grudgingly scooted away from him to allow as much room as she could, not wanting to hinder him during the performance. And she sat and watched his hands as they tenderly walked along the keys. Fingers whose first love, she knew, were strings, but they tipped and pranced, electing the sounds of a warm, afternoon rain shower.

It was a song that she hadn't actually heard in years, and one that this piano should have been able to play by itself. A nostalgic tune, it wasn't without a sense of awe though as the drops turned heavy to light and back again.

Whimsical. Folly. Such an intricate study of a sound so trivial.

She understood her mother in the heart of this piece. It had been so long that she couldn't have possibly decided if it was the exact way her mother had played it, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Just as the man who brought it out of this instrument again.

How dearly sweet.

The notes trailed to a stop finally, and the hands that she had somehow become so familiar with during their times at things like this paused against the keys. "Are you alright?"

Could she say yes? She didn't really have a reason to say no. "I think so," she answered instead. Meeting his eyes, she knew he was worried about her. "Thank you," she said before he had a chance to pry any farther at her.

"Of course," he let it go. "I'm not sure I did your mother proud though," he chuckled.

With a shake of her head she stared down at the keys and could only disagree. Her dear, mother probably would have been thrilled to find anyone with such talent regardless of what he played. They would probably have been the best of friends if they'd been allowed the chance. "You would have loved her. I believe that."

She shouldn't have said that. Why would Quatre care?

"I suppose I do," he quietly reasoned. "…At least part of her."

Dorothy blinked back her thoughts, surprised. Turning to him, he didn't meet her eyes, his own unfocused and distant. "You really see a piece of her in me, don't you?" She never figured anyone saw that.

"I know well enough by your descriptions that you're mostly your father's daughter. But there are parts of you that are… feminine." He closed his eyes with a smile—or a cringe, she couldn't tell—over that wording.

"Feminine?" she snickered.

"You know what I mean," he waved it off, looking over to her. "There just seems to be very few that you show that to."

Looking at him, Dorothy carefully mapped his features and expression. No, there was no "very few." There was one.

One Quatre Raberba Winner.

* * *

"So, you guys have literally known her forever."

Quatre entered the kitchen at probably the wrong time. Flashing a smile to the group as though he hadn't understood what conversation he'd walked in on, Duo, Andrew and Byron gave him a round of hellos.

"Hey, Q. I even left you some coffee," Duo helpfully pointed back to probably the half a cup left in the pot.

"From you, I'll take that as a courtesy," he chuckled back, and decided to take him up on it.

"You should," he nodded. "And pull up a seat, have you heard this one?" Turning back to the two men on the other side of the kitchen island, he waved them on. "Start over."

"What were we on?" Byron mumbled into his cup.

"Stitches," Duo helpfully supplied.

Quatre gave the group an odd look as he took the remaining coffee and then reset the maker for the others. Duo had been gathering ammunition for Word War V against Dorothy, and these two were his primary suppliers. Whether the former schoolmates knew what they were being interrogated for, he wasn't sure.

Byron snickered at the reference and Andrew rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Like we said, the fencing team and the soccer teams haven't gotten along in the entire history of the academy. Why, no one cares, we just have a little rivalry."

"So we'd come up with competitions sometimes. It's a running tradition," Byron added. "And one night towards the end of the year—would have been Dorothy's freshman year—we con like the science club or someone into setting a scavenger hunt for a handful of each of us."

"It was the yearbook class," Andrew corrected.

"Whatever," he waved it off. "Anyway, the point is to find all of these things the quickest. Each team had a different list, so you weren't after the same things, but the problem was that you not only have to collect everything, you have to sign your name at the spot where you got it, so you have to do each point as a team."

"You're purposefully drug down by your weakest member," Andrew added, taking a drink from his cup as well.

Quatre finished his task and walked up to Duo's side as the group sat around the counter between them. "That sounds like fun," Duo happily noted over to him and he gave him a nod back.

"Oh, it was a blast!" Byron gushed. "We had like twenty items, and they were all over campus, because the rules were you couldn't drive. But we started this at sundown, so it was dark and it took you a good two or three hours."

"We got down to the last item, which we knew immediately, but we saved the worst for last."

"Bell tower on the campus chapel," Byron nodded back to Andrew as the two continued. "This thing was three stories up, across the peaked, tile roof, over the decorative row of crosses and in the center of the building. The fire escape, which is nothing but metal pipe and some wired together pieces of grill for steps made a spiral up to the choir loft on the outside."

"It was completely unused and has been strictly off limits since our fathers were in school. The whole thing is ready to come off the building in a pile," Andrew explained.

"So, of course, this is how you got up there," Byron continued with a laugh. "Up to the landing, and then you had to balance on the railing and pull yourself up over the rain gutter onto the roof. Which actually isn't as far as you would think because the roof slants at like a seventy degree angle," he exaggerated.

Quatre exchanged a look with Duo. He was thinking these people were nuts to do this for fun. Duo apparently looked more like he wanted to go give it a try.

"It wasn't really that bad, we'd all been up there before anyway," Andrew put in, getting the whole group to chuckle. "We went up without any problem, Dorothy coming up last."

"Because otherwise we'd all be trying to look up her skirt and end up going over the edge," Byron slipped in with a laugh.

Quatre about had coffee come out his nose.

Managing to swallow it down, he purposefully set his cup down and took a seat beside Duo, deciding it might be best if he didn't drink through this.

"Regardless," Andrew turned from giving his friend a glare for the accusation and went on, "she was still in her uniform skirt, so a couple of us on the roof helped pull her up."

"And as soon as she sat down on the edge and begins crawling over, we hear this _rip_," Byron throws in, obviously excited to get to the good part. "It's dark up there, we can just make out where we're going, so we're all kidding that she ripped her skirt off."

"Dorothy's only comment was 'I think I'm bleeding.'" Andrew shook his head at the description and then waved it off. "None of us are actually paying attention, and we get to the bell tower and take the flag and sign our names, Dorothy lagging way behind."

"Getting it all done, we start down to race for the finish line. Dorothy's still barely pulling up the rear—which is not common by the way," Byron added. "So we do figure out that something's wrong by the time we go back over the edge and start down the fire escape."

"She won't say anything except that she thought she cut herself on the rain gutter, which did us no good with no light to speak of and no easy way down."

Byron took a sip from his cup before nodding his consent. "There's no way we could have carried her down this thing. So we got her back to the landing and we started down, me in front and Andrew right behind her in case she slipped."

"And she was in pain," Andrew added. "She didn't say it, but she was slow and she was limping."

"See, I didn't even get that," Byron retorted. "I'm figuring she's got some scratches and needs a tetanus shot more than anything. We make it all the way down, and we're still giving her hell because she's slowing us down and that we'd give her a bandage when we got back to the others."

"Which would have taken her half an hour to walk back to the school entrance at the rate she was going."

Byron waved his hands in front of him. "Finally we get down to the ground and around the corner where the streetlight is and we're waiting on them. Andrew comes up right behind her, and I swear to you, I have never seen the blood actually drain out of someone's face before," he laughed.

With a wince at the memories, Andrew shook his head. "Her uniform skirt was dark blue. And, it is short," the two exchanged a look and comically confirmed that with each other. "But as soon as she got into the light and I looked down, the whole back of her skirt looked black," he explained. "She had blood running all the way down her right leg and soaking into those stupid little, frilly, ankle socks she wore."

Byron nodded vigorously his agreement. Quatre sat, watching the two tell the story, feeling surprisingly worried for her considering how many years ago this was.

"Next thing I know, Andrew takes her by the shoulders and pushes her into me and tells me to put pressure on it before he goes sprinting across the courtyard towards the parking lot on the other side of campus. I still, to this day, have never seen this man move that fast," Byron chuckled at him.

"And of course you were still oblivious," he defended.

"She looked fine from the front," he shrugged. "Of course I did know something was wrong when I'm standing there holding her arms and Dorothy's not chewing me out for it."

"There's the Cat we know and love," Duo nodded and elbowed Quatre in the side.

"So, about that time I turn her around to figure out what's going on, and Andrew's not kidding," Byron shook his head again. "She was red all the way down her leg. And by the time I flipped her over the bicycle rack next to us to try to figure where she was bleeding from, Dorothy gets her senses back."

"I wonder why," Andrew interrupted him, throwing a bitter look at him.

"Hey, it was better than dropping her to the concrete," he defended. "Anyway, Dots takes over and makes me give up my jacket and she's trying to tie it around her upper thigh by the time he comes tearing into the chapel parking lot in his car," he yanked a thumb in Andrew's direction.

"And Dorothy actually tried to talk us out of taking her to the hospital," Andrew added.

"I don't even thing _she_ got how bad it was, at first," Byron nodded. "But we all take our jackets, pile them in the passenger seat and stuff her in. So, they're on the way to the emergency room, and we're just stuck two members down."

Andrew closed his eyes on the thoughts and slouched to hold his chin up with a hand. "And they call her grandfather," he quietly mumbled.

"I still don't believe you lived through that," Byron mockingly patted his friend on the back. "Damn good thing the Duke liked you, is all I can say."

"I still don't believe I outlived that man," Andrew mumbled. "If the nurses didn't already have my name from when I brought her in I would have run for it, I admit it." The others chuckled at him, but he didn't defend himself. "It was horrible. I'm standing in the waiting room at close to midnight and Duke Dermail comes in—out of uniform."

Byron waved his hands to interrupt again. "Now, you would have had to have known the Duke, but we had running bets that the guy slept in his uniform. He was never seen in anything else," he laughed.

Quatre somehow fully believed that.

"It was the _only_ time that I ever saw the man look… shaken," Andrew went on. "And he's standing there asking me what his precious granddaughter was doing at that time of night to need twenty-some stitches put in her leg."

"Yeah, the Duke had a slightly more… _refined_ view of Dorothy than some of the rest of us had," Byron added, trying to bite back the laugh.

"What did you tell him?" Quatre asked.

Andrew quietly shook his head, staring into his coffee cup. "I don't even remember. I don't think I told him anything. The nurses figured out who he was and ushered him back to her by then. I still don't know what she told him either."

"But twenty-some stitches from a rain gutter?" Duo asked. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Quatre quietly agreed, the story enlightening a number of things. None of which were about Dorothy herself.

"We never did figure out what she caught exactly," Byron shrugged. "Cute little L shaped scar though," he grinned and jumped to his feet. Andrew sighed and rolled his eyes as his friend turned around and traced an L at the very top of the back of his thigh. "Just under her butt," he explained. "Get her in the right mood and she'll probably still show it to you."

Quatre balked at the idea.

Duo laughed. "Yeah, there're some areas of Dorothy I really don't need to see."

* * *

"Camera placements are over each corner of the wall and exit points," Andrew confirmed from the data pad in front of him. "If there weren't so many pathways this would work better."

"Agreed," Quatre nodded back to him. "It took two days to get that much."

"Heat instead of motion sensors was a good choice," the other mumbled as well.

"We figured out that motion was impossible to use. Between the trees and the flowers any breeze would set the whole thing off," he agreed, leading them around to the back point and the gazebo at the end of the gardens.

"Not to mention the fountains," Andrew added as they turned onto the main path to bring up the systems for full use.

Stopping to look back at Andrew he nodded. "It was a major work around to get past this one," he nodded over to the…. Wait.

At the same time both men turned to look over at the area in front of the gazebo where the huge fountain had previously stood, complete with the surrounding water basin and the naked cherubs.

"What happened to the angel fountain?" Andrew finally got out as the two turned to look at each other in confusion.

With a shrug, Quatre didn't know what to tell him. "It was here last time I was."

Turning again to the new, far smaller, fountain in its place, they watched the water fill and then trickle out of three tiers of lotus shaped pools of rose granite. Around the edge of the basin was a new flower planter that took up the rest of the area the original basin had, and included a collection of newly placed plants.

Actually it was a wonderful addition considering the perfectly spaced lotus plants that now littered the narrow trench of water in the center of the main walkway that reached from here all the way back to the house.

"Huh," Andrew mumbled. "I never liked the other one anyway."

Turning to look at the man beside him, Quatre cracked a smile. "I found it tacky."

Andrew nodded and then shrugged at him before moving on for the controls at the side of the gazebo's main section.

Quatre followed after, deciding that he liked the new addition and would have to tell Dorothy as much. However, his thoughts drifted to Andrew again as they continued on with their assigned task.

The man seemed different. He was being openly personable to him, friendly kind of. There was no air of distrust or… bitterness. It still wasn't an easy exchange exactly. Strained would probably be a better word. But it could be far worse, and Quatre was thankful for it.

…He wondered at it, but was still thankful for it.

Something in the story this morning tripped a memory in him. Andrew had always had a very protectively streak in him for Dorothy. She had said he was the one that always looked out for her regardless of whether she wanted it or not. That didn't necessarily mean he loved her, but it did mean that he cared. His reaction, even to Byron, his friend, about an event that was a few years old, told more than he probably realized it did. There was a little possessive edge there, like a brother or family, more than a crush.

Maybe the man really felt that he had a right to take care of her. If Dorothy wasn't over-exaggerating the idea that they had been constantly paired together since they were children, perhaps he did see himself as her chosen defender.

Whatever his problem was, Quatre wasn't sure he cared anymore. The man was moving on, and he was willing to say good riddance.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. If Andrew felt this protective about her, the chances that he would just ignore her and let it go was slim regardless of what type of "love" the man professed.

Quatre was more worried about how Dorothy was taking this. It scared him to the very core to think maybe now that Andrew was actively pursuing someone else, or whatever these Romafellers called it, Dorothy would start trying to think about what she missed out on.

She wouldn't want it back… would she? He'd noticed immediately when she'd slipped away from dinner last night by herself to work on something, but it had taken him a little while before he could slide out after her.

It was like he was watching her, trying everything he could to pull her back in his direction instead of letting her dwell on someone else.

Apparently every man she attracted had problems with possessiveness.

* * *

"Ow."

"Sorry."

Heero stopped in front of the first doorway to the expansive ballroom, listening through the soft sounds of music.

"You should really be better than this."

"Maybe you should let me lead."

"Maybe you should learn how to dance."

"I thought I was trying."

"Dorothy, you aren't helping him," came another voice from father away.

"Thank you."

"Alright, find something slower."

Heero had sorted out the voices but still wondered what was going on. He was a little leery about Relena, Quatre and Dorothy spending more time together than necessary. After some of the reports he'd gotten back about their last stay at Relena's estate together he wasn't sure it was advisable or necessary for planning a simple function. Not to mention that one of those meetings must have been spur of the moment and took place in Quatre's assigned bedroom until almost three in the morning.

…And it seemed to necessitate several trips by the girls—both dressed in their nightclothes—for magazines, cookies, hot chocolate and an extra pillow.

He'd stopped asking for the surveillance footage after that.

Deciding he wasn't going to get anywhere out here, he continued his pace and looked in the open doorway. The dance floor area was ready and most of the room was in order for the event. At the moment Relena was at the sound system controls on the opposite wall changing through songs and Quatre and Dorothy were waltzing around the floor, both watching their feet even though there was no music per say for the moment.

No one seemed to notice him, so Heero leaned against the doorframe and noted Quatre's shaky movements as they danced while Dorothy directed him, her feet in nothing but socks to protect her.

"Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—turn. One, two, three. One, two, three. Same boring thing," she counted.

The instruction only made Quatre chuckle at her as they rounded the expansive dance floor again towards him. "Hello, Heero," Quatre mumbled, not looking up from their feet yet.

Dorothy started and then looked over to flash him a catty smile. "Ah, good afternoon Agent Yuy. Are you boys finished or are you just curious as to how badly we're tainting your Princess?" she snickered.

"Less taunting, more dancing," Quatre shushed her as they led away around the floor again.

And to Heero's complete surprise, she obeyed with little more than a half-muttered grumble. Maybe he had been underestimating these two.

Relena found a suitable song and hopped around the dancing couple to walk over to him at the door, her smile a little too wide for his liking at the moment. And he was right. Without a word she walked up to him and forced him to uncross his arms and took his hand to drag him into the room fully.

After a little prodding, and his inability to figure out how to tell her that this wasn't going to help the outcome of the fundraiser at all, he decided to humor her with a dance. It wasn't something he'd done in two years, but he figured he was easily better at this than Quatre was.

A fact that Dorothy promptly picked up on and moved on to teasing Quatre about. The man in question seemed to be either very used to it, or very good at ignoring her. Maybe both.

But the two couples continued for a while as they circled around the room, throwing comments back and forth before Dorothy abruptly called, "Cut in!"

Heero faltered as Relena turned sharply away and the two girls switched past each other. Dorothy now stood in front of him expectantly and he only managed to give her an odd look, which was apparently the same thing Quatre was doing.

The girls exchanged a look between themselves before simultaneously mumbling, "We're going to have to work on that."

* * *

Most of an hour later Quatre was fairly passable at the handful of the most typical dance patterns, Heero was refreshed on the same ones along with some much needed refinement, Relena was happily giggling at about everything and Dorothy was beginning to like her decision in an escort.

There was nothing clumsy about Quatre's movements; he held the same athletic fluidity that she knew from his fighting techniques. He was simply unpracticed and uncertainty was the major cause of his slips ups. It was to be expected when he had had as little training as he claimed to.

But he was certainly trainable, and Dorothy didn't mind being the instructor in the least. She loved to dance. She could pick out as much about a man by the way he danced as she could by the way he fought. It was an understanding she had come to long ago and a skill she had honed well.

Even the infinitely restrained Mr. Yuy had his tells to her when they switched partners. The strength in his hand that very lightly held hers, the forcefulness of his lead even in the hand on her back. To her it was more like being held prisoner than being escorted.

Quatre was far more genteel, but she was still tapering into teaching him to lead and couldn't gauge enough yet. What was abundantly apparent was that Quatre liked her and Heero didn't. It didn't take anything more then nerve endings to know that type of difference in their touches.

So, just to be spiteful, each time they switched partners—teaching both men how to graciously allow another to cut in—she got closer to Heero. If she was beginning to annoy him he didn't show it, but his posture, if possible, got more rigid.

Ha. That was what he got.

Again, they switched back to their rightful partners, and this time Dorothy gave Quatre a small curtsey and accepted his hand, but stepped in closer to him as well. He needed to get used to at least looking like he liked the woman he was with. It threw him a second before he continued with her around the floor, still attempting to watch his feet too much.

"I'm up here," she mumbled for the tenth time.

"Sorry," he unthinkingly added.

"Quatre, you know this. You just need to think about something else," she counseled. "Let your date choose her place with you. All you have to do is accept her."

"Accept her?"

"Framing a canvas," she smirked at her old instructor's philosophy. "Your only purpose is to show her off."

With a sigh he rolled his eyes at her. "Is it too late to decline as your date?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he relented. "But you have to promise to be nice to me."

His left hand closed around hers, his long fingers holding her easily. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she could feel the smooth calluses on his fingertips from so many years practice with the strings of a violin. It was a unique touch.

Formality dictated flat, open palms, but Dorothy reminded herself that she was not training for a competition. She was dancing with her partner. Her escort. Her perfect rival. "Oh, I'll be very nice to you," she purred to him, leaning towards his ear.

Dorothy laughed when his pace faltered.

* * *

Due to time limits and the amount of projects they were running, the entire group was eating in shifts. Dorothy was running herself around in circles and accomplishing nothing. Currently she was double-checking all of the things that she had double-checked the hour before, and the hour before that.

Finally Quatre had taken her arm and carried on a pleasant conversation with her about the last minute details tomorrow while steering her towards the kitchen. By the time she figured out where he was taking her she planted her feet and insisted that she had better things to do than eat.

The woman had gone through a box of ice cream, a cookie bouquet that the Marchioness was kind enough to give her as a preparation present, and a couple cakes that randomly showed up in the kitchen. Granted she had help eating all of that, but she was down to randomly snacking whenever she slowed down enough to hear her stomach growl.

"Dorothy, toast does not count as real food," Quatre argued. "It won't take long and then you can go back to harassing the answering machines of ever delivery service in the area. They aren't open now anyway," he specifically reminded her.

"Quatre, I don't have time for this," she tried shaking her arm out of his. "And what time are you picking up the cake tomorrow?"

"Two twenty-five," he answered, getting five minutes faster each time she asked. "Just in case there could be traffic, or a flood, or pestilence, or locus or something else unforeseen," he sighed at her. "I'll remember the cake," he agitatedly promised for fifteenth time.

"But do you know what you're getting?" she waved off the annoyed tone. "Maybe I'd better just do it," she muttered.

"I'll get it!" And if she didn't quit worrying about it he was going to start shaking her! "I sat through the same two hours, right beside you, trying to figure out which extract you liked better for the frosting. I'll be sure it's the right one."

Finally getting her arm back she crossed them in front of her and they both ignored the snickering and sideways looks that Duo and Hilde threw in their direction as the two walked around them in the hallway. "Alright," she challenged. "Which extracts?"

"Dorothy," he sighed.

"Which extracts?" she prodded again.

"Vanilla and hazelnut," he answered.

"Almond," she corrected with a peaked—I told you so—eyebrow.

Quatre paused a second to think about that. "Hazelnut."

"Almond," she shook her head.

"No. I remember this. It was hazelnut."

"No. Hazelnut was what the couple beside us decided on for their wedding cake."

The snickering got louder at that comment. Both of them turned to give Duo and Hilde warning looks. The couple quickly choked down their amusement and hurriedly skittered away, Duo protectively pushing her along in front of him to keep her out of the line of fire.

"What extract did you actually order," Quatre reasonably turned the conversation again.

"Vanilla."

"Then what does it matter what the second one was that you didn't order?" he blinked at her expectantly.

"I may not have the best confidence in your memory," she snipped and rounded away to start down the hallway.

She made it one step before he caught her arm again, expecting the move, and began tugging her back the same way they had been going before. "My memory isn't that bad."

"Quatre," Dorothy resorted to actually whining, tripping after him as he pulled her along behind.

And he couldn't help but burst out laughing. Dorothy was constantly a little sugar buzzed, usually well caffeinated, and more than a little sleep deprived. He was also absolutely sure that she hadn't eaten anything real since her toast this morning, which he had specifically handed to her.

But for a second, as he turned back to face her, everything was forgotten as she gave him a little pout at being drug along. Stepping back to her, he placed a hand under her chin and tipped her face up, trying to bite down his laugh. "Please just humor me. I promise everything will be fine even if you're not standing over someone's shoulder." Specifically meeting her eyes, he quietly appealed, "Please?"

With a groan, Dorothy slumped and rolled her eyes. "You fight like a woman, you know that?" she bitterly looked at him.

Blinking at her, he gave a tight smile and a shrug. "Well, one of us has to."

* * *

Why did every good thing he tried to do around here go so terribly wrong?

Quatre had picked the wrong time to force Dorothy into eating something. They had ended up sitting down with Andrew and Byron and Heero of all company.

Although, he wasn't exactly sure why Heero was sticking around. The guy wasn't particularly found of dinner conversation and he had eaten earlier and was now only nursing a cup of something and quietly staying at the sidelines of the conversation.

Watching. Heero was watching.

The revelation had an odd feeling with it. His friend was basically… watching out for him. Had Quatre given him such a bad impression of these two that the man was a little cautious about leaving them all in the same room? That was actually kind of endearing coming from Heero, it was something Trowa would do.

Not that it was doing him any good.

The two new officers were toying with him and it was annoying but it didn't seem harmful in any way. Probably just a game. But tonight Quatre didn't appreciate the humor in it.

"Hey, did you know Andrew's family is in mining too," Byron piped in. For the tenth time, or more, it was a question or comment that basically necessitated a response… exactly when he managed to take a bite during this conversation.

Swallowing hurriedly, again, he nodded to the man across the counter, his manners not allowing him to talk with his mouth full. Basically this whole conversation had been a test of his manners. "Really?" he asked, feigning interest. Setting his fork aside, he decided he'd humored that game long enough. "For what product?"

"Metal deposits mainly," Andrew returned easily, his plate already finished considering he'd managed a couple breaks in the conversation. "There's quite an assortment."

"All Earth based?" Quatre asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "Probably a little easier than satellite based."

"Same basic principles," he almost waved it off, and then decided, why not? "Of course, it helps that the planet doesn't try to float away from you when you drill into it."

"Wait," Byron mumbled again, "you mine in zero G?"

"For the most part," he nodded. "Sometimes smaller pieces are taken inside the full gravity portion of the mining block of a resource station. Usually that's only if it's something we're unsure of or having seen before."

"Do you come across a lot of that?" Andrew asked, seeming actually interested for once.

"Not a lot, no," he answered. "But there are items that scanning equipment can't define close enough for us to know for sure what the substance is until we get to it. Most of the time it ends up being iron."

The group chuckled over the common error. "You find something of interest now and again though," Dorothy added herself to the conversation for one of the few times this evening. She had primarily left him to her "friends" mercy for most of the evening, and Quatre wasn't exactly thrilled with her at the moment for it either.

"Oh, like the little gems you fell in love with at the museum?" he pointedly teased her. "Once in a while," he agreed.

"Ah, Dorothy and her forbidden affair with sparkly things," Byron sighed at her.

She laughed easily and rose from her place, collecting her dishes. "Always," she purred. "And besides, diamonds are far to common," crinkled her nose a little and threw a look in Andrew's direction as she started for the dishwasher.

"Sorry," he mumbled as though carbon being one of the most common elements in the universe was somehow his fault.

"So, not all of your mining is in metals?" Quatre asked, rising as well, to be rid of this whole exchange.

"No, we have a few diamonds mines and a couple for other gemstones as well," he admitted.

"Diversity is the best way to keep a business growing," Quatre knowingly advised. "I'm sure with a family history in mining you'll eventually figure that out."

He really didn't mean to seem superior with that line, but he left it at that and showed himself out, not waiting for Dorothy. He had no intentions of letting any of the three of them push his buttons anymore tonight.

Heero, however, had wondered how long it would take him to—very politely—snap. He only managed to keep the smirk off his face enough that raising his cup covered it as he took a drink.

"Well now. That was juvenile," Dorothy turned back to the other two once the kitchen door stopped swinging. "You boys up to your old dinner-party antics still?" she specifically asked.

That was something Heero wasn't expecting. Was Dorothy actually defending Quatre?

"Oh, come on, it was fun," Byron waved it off. "He's a good sport. You've seen politicians go off and yell at us in a third of that time," he laughed.

"I suppose to be polite we should apologize," Andrew mildly put in.

Dorothy hummed at them and then walked back to the counter at Heero's side. "I think you'd better wait a day or two," she softly cautioned. She cast him a knowing look when he glanced up at her.

Heero really had been underestimating this couple.

* * *

"What is it about these two that threatens you so much?" Dorothy mused.

She was grating on Quatre's last good nerve and he was finished with being polite about any of it. As soon as these stupid stands went together he was locking himself in his room and refusing to come out. "They do not threaten me," he lied, but managed to convince himself too.

"Really?" she cooed. "Could have fooled me."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't base every one of my actions on your interpretations of them," he stated. Pausing his work, he took a breath and told himself that getting angry with her was only proving her point that they'd gotten to him.

"Well," she flippantly waved it off. "I suppose maybe they aren't the only two who deserve to be called juvenile."

Quatre stopped, staring at the wire flower stands that stood before him almost ready for their décor pieces. She was right. He realized that Andrew and Byron had gotten the best of him by nothing more than a silly little game.

Actually the roundabout admission that she'd called them on it for him did at least help. More than anything, he'd been a little hurt that she made no move to even aid him. Dorothy had just completely stayed out of it.

What had he expected her to do?

"You know, they only find you a good sport," she continued. "But you're the one that seems to think they're malicious. Honestly, what have they done to you?"

Still he couldn't give her a reply, didn't even look up at her. They'd done nothing of course.

"I've never seen you like this, Quatre," she quietly continued, at least sounding sincere now. "You're not a bitter person. If it were anyone else you would have caught them and laughed it off, giving everyone a good chuckle. But you walk on eggshells with these guys. For what?"

Without anything more Dorothy slipped from the chair she'd been in and picked up four of the finished stands to take them to the ballroom for their placements. Still, he sat and only listened to her walk out of the room.

Why did he feel such a rivalry with them? Was it just his way of trying to prove himself better than Dorothy's older friends? He was just trying to find a place for himself in between everyone else in her life….

Moving back to work, he finished up the other stands and carried them down the hall to the ballroom as well, finding pockets of their group here and there finishing things or just talking. Walking up to Dorothy, he stood by and waiting for her to decide on the place for the one she still had in hand.

Setting it down, she turned back to him without a word and took one more out of his grasp before setting it down next to the other. "Have I ever mentioned that you hold far too many insecurities?" she quietly asked, conversational by all appearances to anyone else in the area.

With an internal sigh he nodded, "Once or twice."

Turning back, she took another one from his hands. Meeting his eyes for a second she gave him a little smile. "Well, add this to your count then."

Quatre couldn't help but chuckle despite himself. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she raised an eyebrow.

"The last thing you need right now is trying to counsel me," he brushed it off. Stepping away he added a couple stands to the space between the next set of patio doors like she had done with the others. Adding the last one to the end, he stepped back and let her adjust the arrangement. "You're right."

"I'm always right," she shrugged. "But you didn't answer my questions."

"And if I figure out what to tell you, I will," he dodged. She turned back to give him a sour look but he held up a hand to stop her. "Goodnight," he stated instead. Taking her hand in his he raised it to his face, turning her hand at the last minute to press a quick kiss to the back of her wrist.

Releasing her, Quatre turned to head off to bed and sleep this off, her giggle behind him.

* * *

"No, I need that…" Dorothy trailed out to think for a moment while the delivery service people stood holding the wheeling cart. "I don't know where I need that," she finally decided. "Please just leave it there."

The two shrugged at each other and Dorothy hurried on, practically running down the hall towards the ballroom again.

Quatre watched her and then shook his head. The job of hostess for something this extensive was not a job she was going to be taking on again any time soon, he was sure. And he was also quite grateful too. This was a madhouse.

"I believe I feel sorry for asking her to house this function," a thoughtful voice added from behind him.

Turning he found the Marquis watching her trail of blond hair weave around other people as she was obviously in search of someone or something in all of this. "She'll be alright," he soothed, knowing by tonight that she would be back to her perfect airs of dignity, not a frazzled hair out of place.

The elder man hummed with a nod. Casting a look around them again, the Marquis looked down at him curiously. "Might I have a word with you, Mr. Winner?"

Quatre was a little surprised but nodded easily, "Of course."

Marquis Wayridge wandered down the hall a little ways and finally stopped in the den beside the music room, and Quatre trailed after him. Once inside, the other closed the door behind them and then tucked his hands behind his back as he paced over to one of the windows on the opposite wall.

The man was apparently taking his time with something, and Quatre had to push down a couple nervous glances towards the closed door. This wasn't just a friendly chat then. During the past few days he'd spoken to the gentleman a number of times over a little of everything, nothing had turned so serious before.

"There is a topic of great importance to me that I need to discuss with you," he began, still not turning back to face him. "This has been a long time in coming, but decisions of this sort are made slowly and with great deliberation."

Quatre slowly wondered if he should take a seat for this but decided against it. "What is that, Sir?"

Wayrige finally turned to look back over his shoulder at him, and for a moment appeared to visually size him up. The friendly, always concerned airs that the man typically had seemed displaced and removed from the cool scrutiny as though he were looking at statue rather than a person. "I'm sure that you're well aware that I know your true history."

Quatre kept himself from swallowing, but he felt himself quickly switch from nervous of a friend to wary of a potential adversary. He didn't know what to expect, but if these were the directions of the man's thoughts it couldn't be a good thing. "I am," he quietly confirmed.

And as quickly as it had changed, the Marquis' expression turned back to a little smile at him. "At ease," he teased before looking back to the window. "I certainly do not mean you, or any of your friends, any harm. It would be against my position as well as my… personal preferences."

Position?

Taking a step back, the Marquis turned to his side to look down in thought. "Not to mention my dear Lady would never forgive me," he smiled.

No, Dorothy wouldn't take kindly to anyone bringing up their pasts in any manner at all. If her personal dislike of a situation was something that actually hindered the man in front of him, Quatre was sure the Marquis didn't have any malice towards him.

"My task today is to offer you, Mr. Winner, a position with us."

"…Us?" he cautiously asked. For some reason a feeling of dread settled on him as he watched the man casually turn to regard him again.

With a look of curious scrutiny he slowly continued, "I'm sure that you have heard of the Oracle network. The group of 'listeners' that sometimes provide leads for the Preventers. I wonder though," he paused to turn fully towards him, "if Dorothy has told you."

The Oracles. The helper group. The outsider organization completely above the law. "Told me what?" he was afraid to ask.

With a little smile, Wayridge nodded to himself. "She has always been the most dedicated to any cause she feels strongly about. I am not surprised that this is no different."

His heart sunk in his chest as he swallowed. "You're saying that Dorothy is an Oracle."

"Hm," he nodded. "Yes, am I."

Quatre turned away, wishing he didn't have to believe that.

"Perhaps you suspected?" he asked.

Of course he did. "I wondered." He remembered her words about the group that protected their identities while they were in this very house so long ago. But those words had been enough then to make him wonder exactly what cult she'd sold herself into then.

Now he knew.

Looking back at the elder gentleman, he found Wayridge patiently waiting for this to all sink in. "What do the Oracles want from me?" he finally asked, skipping to the point.

The Marquis seems visually impressed by the question, and gave him a smile again. "At the present moment, nothing. As I said, I am only here to offer you a position."

"Position…." Quatre stared at him. "You want me to join you?"

The smile grew larger and he closed his eyes to think. "We are not the criminals you may think we are. The only reason I have undermined our dear Lady's secrecy is to show you that. Our goals are honorable, and short term."

"I have known a lot of organizations that honestly believed in what they were doing," Quatre softly spoke up. "It didn't make them right."

Marquis Wayridge opened his eyes to meet his. "That didn't stop you from joining one before."

The verbal slap in the face was enough to silence him.

"The point is whether or not you can believe in us," the elder man went on. "The Oracles were formed from the conscience of people who knew their mistakes. People like myself who cursed themselves for allowing things to go much too far. People like Lady Dorothy who finally found a faith in humanity again. People like you… who should understand the scars."

Was that it? Was that really the point of this?

"The network is merely an assurance that those who finally know better have a way to provide for peace." The Marquis once again turned back to the window. "It is our… penance."

That made some type of sense to Quatre as he thought about it. Dorothy would see it as her duty to protect those harmed by a war that she felt she had such a strong hand in creating. Apparently, so did the Marquis. "But who guards the Oracles from making the same mistakes?"

There was a low chuckle from the man framed by the morning light streaming through the window. "I think you greatly overestimate us. Our numbers are very, very few, and very well protected. The only names you will probably ever know are myself, Lady Dorothy, and Lady Une. And the only reason I have told you of Dorothy at all is because I do believe you owe her your gratitude."

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully. Quatre didn't like the idea that Dorothy was mixed up in this at all. A knife blade of defensiveness twisted in his chest at the words. He wanted Dorothy left out of this but he knew very well that she knew what she was doing far more than he did.

"From the very beginning, she took on the task of ridding the world of the information on the more notorious war heroes. Before there was anything resembling a network, Lady Catalonia charged the most influential of Romafellers' members to bury every ounce of information ever collected on any of you. I do not suppose I need to tell you how persuasive she can be," Wayridge lightly chuckled.

"No, you don't," he whispered, believing it without question.

"By the time the trials began over war crimes, a number of us had scrubbed every piece of identifiable evidence that we could possibly find. And so, we sat back and waited for anything else to break. We became the watchers. When the Preventers was formed and Lady Une given the position as Commander, she took over in places we could not, and secretly formed Oracle."

"The Preventers have never charged anyone with a war crime," Quatre easily noted. He had always known that that was no accident.

"And they will not," Wayridge nodded. "The best thing that could have happened to us was MarieMaia's attempted usurpation. It destroyed the Barton Foundation as easily as the war had destroyed Romafeller, and it gave the whole world the chance to show that vengeance was a misguided practice."

"Among other things," he responded. Swallowing down his discomfort, he watched the man's back. "You also used it as a means of propaganda. The Gundams and Preventers were hailed as the heroes of the battle, the peace-fighters. You turned public opinion in our favor."

"We made sure the press covered a few of your most prominent supporters more than usual. Don't make us out to be godlike. All it did was show the public the truth for once," Wayridge defended, turning to look back at him. "Or do you really believe differently?"

He couldn't respond to that. He hadn't felt right after that with the press considering them heroes. But they were fighting only for peace. Finally the people had seen that and, he believed, understood. How did he begrudge anyone for wanting to show that?

"But this goes deeper than that. The Oracles are a protective group. There is a certain list of people and subjects that the network watches, all else is left to the populous untainted." Wayridge turned back around to look at him, his friendliness easily back in place as usual. "And those are subjects which I know are dear to you. It has taken quite some time to persuade the others to accept a 'protected' as a member, but I have always been sure that your beliefs match our own."

"This is insurance, isn't it?" Quatre analyzed the man in front of him. "Tell me you're not just looking for a way to exonerate your actions by giving a token position to someone you're supposedly doing all of this for?"

"Cleaver," he chuckled. "I think I see it now," he mumbled to himself. "But that's a bit more pessimistic than I was expecting from you."

"I don't mean to be ungrateful. Regardless of what you call yourselves, you gave a number of us a second chance at a normal life. But you have to understand my reluctance," he sincerely gave in to the worry that plagued him. "Part of freedom, part of peace, is allowing others to make up their own minds."

"I understand," Wayridge nodded. "But if you had a way, in your grasp, to ensure that no one would take away that second chance, would you use it? Or, if you had a way to prevent, or at least warn, someone from having to inherit the same scars that you did, would you?"

Quatre stopped, stunned. If someone was maliciously coming after one of his friends with information on their actions during the war, would he stand by a let them? Of course not. He'd find a way to help. But did he really trust these people to be that help? Did he trust…?

Dorothy.

He closed his eyes, his debates finished. Quatre had determined long ago on some foggy night in the back observation lounge of this house never to doubt her again. He couldn't. If this was where Dorothy felt she belonged, then he had no option but to believe in her. And through her, he could only believe in this group as well.

"Why me?"

"Compared to whom?" Wayridge asked. "The other protected? That wasn't much of a consideration for asking you. It was far more of a deterrent against it really. As was the fact that you have a personal connection to another member."

Snapping his eyes open, Quatre looked at the gentleman again. There it was. The other thing that was nagging on him. Dorothy hadn't told him she was part of this. He understood without being told that she couldn't have, but she had hinted at it heavily once or twice. And those times she had made it apparent that a relationship between them would not be viewed kindly. "Why?"

"Separation of emotion from duty," he stated with a smile. "Not that that has ever been a practice for the Lady, or myself. But it worries some that she has become far too attached to this. Lesser people believe her insights will be corrupted."

Wait…. "Marquis?" he blinked at the man, thrown completely off by the turn in his thoughts.

The elder man saw it and gave him a little chuckle before moving pointedly on. "Lady Dorothy knows nothing about this conversation, or this offer, by the way. What you choose to tell her, if anything, is up to you. Regardless of your decision, I am counting on you to keep this conversation between us."

Taking a breath to shake off his shock, he nodded solemnly. "Of course." His heart had tied itself into a knot as it thumped away in his chest.

Marquis Wayridge stepped forward to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I do honestly believe that you would find our methods honorable. Please consider it Quatre," he gave him a smile. "You know where to find me, or Lady Une, if you so choose."

The man went on, headed for the door before Quatre whirled around again. "What about tonight?" he asked, his thoughts clicking quickly into place. "What is this fundraiser really for?"

The gentleman turned back to him, looking a bit surprised. "You sound like Lady Dorothy, seeing a conspiracy in everything. Tonight has no meaning to the network at all. It is simply a personal decision to help out a friend or two," he chuckled.

Quatre backed down his nerves again. He was trying to see a conspiracy, wasn't he? "I'm sorry," he said.

"Not at all. You'll find that I typically have a number of motives behind every action," he smiled. "But then, I'm sure you're used to that."

The man opened the door and left again before Quatre found a way to interpret that.

* * *

Was this really what he wanted?

In the last couple days everything had given Quatre reason to doubt that the desire he had held so dear for so long… was unfounded.

He'd been watching Dorothy through this haze of admiration and it was mainly due to his own imagination of how he wanted her to be.

Was he even really in love with the woman, or the idea of her?

* * *

"To marry unequally is to suffer equally." - Henri Frederic Amiel

"…the course of true love never did run smooth." – Shakespeare (Mid-summer's Night's Dream)


	49. Chapter 49

AN: Ah, the soft strains of disenchantment. …I'm going to have to be careful or you guys are going to tie me to the stake and burn me for leaving that chapter like that. ;) 

Angewoman807 made a comment that I have never thought of in all of my time as a GW fan. The episode where Relena shoots at Lady Une, she meets up with Marquis Wayridge, who calls her Katrina to himself. I figured out that Katrina was Relena's real mother, but I never understood when she called the Marquis "Grandpa." I just thought she was being sweet and using a pet name. But could it be that he is actually the father of her mother, and therefore her real grandfather?

Now, after feeling like an idiot for never noticing that before, I have decided to leave the story as it is for now and decide later whether to incorporate that in revisions. So, there's your interesting GW tidbit for the day. Thank you Angewoman807!

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 49 

"_The earliest blossoms are always the most beautiful because they are the first we see. But they bloom only once."_

"Quatre, you're staring at the flowers. Are you that tired?" Relena chuckled at him as he blinked back the sight of the massive centerpiece set on the piano.

"Sorry," he cringed at himself and flashed her a smile. "No, I'm all right."

"You guys have done a lot of work on this," she added as she laced her fingers together behind her back. "I appreciate it, I'm not sure if I've told you that personally."

"Of course," he automatically answered. "I'm happy to help."

With a shake of her head, she slipped over to the bench and sat down on the edge, gazing around the music room that was set with chairs and small tables to serve as a lounge for the visitors tonight. The shelves that housed Dorothy's collection of photos in the corner was closed up, and had been since he'd come. Apparently she hadn't decided to display the collection to the entire guest list this evening.

"I don't know what I'd do without you and the others sometimes," Relena seemed to sigh to herself. "This position has its drawbacks."

With a nod, he turned around to find Davonte's painting "Coy" on the opposite wall, his mind still lost. "I'm sure it would be hard for anyone. But you're strong enough to hold up under it. We all know that," he reassured.

"Thank you," she chuckled again. "I hope so too."

Staring at the painting, he barely heard Relena's comment. The woman in the middle of two men. One technically had her arm, but the other had her attention. Maybe he had jumped to conclusions to identify with her escort. He'd always assumed that she would come back….

"Quatre?" He started, turning back to find Relena still on the bench giving him a concerned look. "Are you all right?"

With a little smile at her show of concern, he shook his head. "No."

That really wasn't what she was expecting. "What? What's wrong?"

Turning back to the painting, he let himself lean back very gently against the antique piano. "I don't think I'm interpreting this painting right."

There was a confused sound from her before Relena obviously decided to take an interest in the piece. "I'm not sure I'm following you. It seems very straight forward and—is that Dorothy?" she suddenly asked.

With an honest laugh, he shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure, but apparently she was the model for it. If that's the correct term."

"Wow," she whispered in appreciation. "Nice to have a professional artist at your beckon call," she laughed. "But, what is there to interpret?"

"Dorothy made the comment that she felt sorry for the man on the right, the escort, once. I thought it was more the other way around." He studied it again, seeing the way the woman's hand laid against the other man's shoulder as he bent towards her to let her speak towards his ear. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"I suppose that depends on how much of a story you're reading into a simple picture."

The comment stopped him a second as he turned back to look at her as Relena studied the painting from her place still. "What do you mean?"

"Well. All it is is a picture. The lady is being ushered in by the man on the right, but pauses to talk to the man on the left. In order to feel sorry for either of them," she turned to look up at him, "you have to invent emotions for them."

Invent them? Quatre turned back to the canvas. He could feel the emotions that were implied with the image easily, he had the first time he looked at it.

"They are facing away from us, we have no idea if they are laughing, or smiling, or angry, or anything else. For all we know the man on the left is the waiter and she's asking for a special favor," Relena continued.

"I suppose you're right," he added, trying to think of the situation being anything other than what he'd always thought of it as.

"I think she's just trying to make them both happy," Relena went on. "The man on the right gets to escort her, but she's not ignoring the other, who she is obviously acquainted with. She's not leaving anyone out," she seemed to shrug.

Always the flighty one, the one no one truly escorted, the butterfly. It wasn't the men's emotions he should have been focusing on. It was hers. Or… her lack of them.

The woman in the middle was simply being sociable to everyone, allowing each a piece of her, but never allowing any to be too close too long.

But that was only Dorothy's social charms. In person she was... well, only a little better. Except with a few people, a few individuals that she showed herself to. Except him.

Turning his eyes down, he glanced over the carved side of the massive instrument behind him.

He'd always been different to her. Dorothy had sought him out purposefully. Their first meeting after _Libra_ had been by her initiative. Dorothy had confessed later that her investment in the colony building project was mainly to allow her to gain a way to causally see him more and find a way to apologize.

But she hadn't left it at that. She'd taken an active interest in him since their involvement began. It wasn't only business, and it wasn't only personal, or due to a guilty conscience. There was something there that still turned her his way….

Quatre wasn't the escort on the right; he was the man on the left that she shouldn't be associating with at such a point in time.

Focusing back on the painting again, Quatre knew that he was not an ideal escort for her this evening. He wasn't a political affiliate, he wasn't even a Romafeller affiliate to be escorting the Lady Catalonia personally, and he didn't actually have a good excuse to be in this crowd aside from the bank figures. Dorothy had waved her fears of the rumors that could be spread, and asked him to be with her tonight.

She had waved the fears of the Oracles tonight too.

"…_it worries some that she has become far too attached to this. Lesser people believe her insights will be corrupted." _Dorothy had to have known that all along. When she warned him away from her, it wasn't only this little section of the world that she was worried about upsetting.

With those words, the Marquis had subtly hinted that Dorothy had been endangering herself all along. There was a threat behind it. If the others honestly believed she was compromised Quatre wasn't sure what their retaliations would involve. But more than likely, Dorothy knew exactly what the consequences were.

But she'd stayed by him all this time anyway.

And Marquis Wayridge had just given her a way out. He had said he always had more than one reason behind his actions. And breaking a small smile, Quatre thanked him for it.

Regardless of whether or not he became an Oracle himself, he had been offered the position, and had been gifted with the knowledge of the network. He'd been placed on equal footing, removing the possibility of Dorothy being in a "corruptible" position should anything… develop.

Dorothy was no longer flirting the affections of someone whom was merely her protected charge. The Marquis had, in a single action, removed Dorothy from the danger of being outcast, removed Quatre from the residual effects of being associated with her, opened them both up to any type of relationship that could come between them, and still offered a position to an extensively networked Colonist, which Oracle probably had very few of.

Quatre hung his head and chuckled to himself.

"Quatre?" Relena's meek question brought him back once more.

"I'm sorry," he laughed it off and turned fully back to her. "Just replaying a conversation. I think I've become very transparent to Marquis Wayridge," he confirmed to himself.

She blinked up at him oddly but nodded. "He's very good at reading people."

There was a very specific twinkle to her eyes when she said it and Quatre shyly turned away, not knowing how to talk to Relena about this. "I suppose it's not hard," he whispered, all but confirming what she was obviously thinking.

Standing, Relena stepped up to him, a hand balled over her chest as she waited for him to turn back to meet her eyes. But there was no speech or accusation, just a soft understanding in her. Without anything more, she stepped in to give him a quick hug that he returned, grateful to her for understanding.

"Don't give up on her," she whispered.

Quatre nodded.

* * *

"The Fezzes Love Connection?"

Maybe it was the name coupled with the specific tone of voice that tipped Quatre off that the guys had really slipped up this time. Maybe it was just that he knew this day couldn't get any better. "…I didn't ask for it," he mildly defended.

Dorothy had come up behind him close enough that her hair landed on his shoulder as she leaned over to stare down at him as he attached the freshly delivered floral bouquets to the front of the serving tables. "How far did these guys go with that stupid little joke about us having a daughter?" she deliberately asked.

"Um," he stalled, not looking up from the holders he was attaching. "Did I tell you about the computer virus?"

"Yes."

"Did I tell you about our marriage certificate?" he cringed to himself.

"No."

"Oh. Well, it was very nicely done," he tried instead. "I even got a laminated write up about how you proposed."

"_I_ proposed?" she asked, at least getting the irritated note out of her voice.

"Apparently the guys don't have a whole lot of faith in me being able to do that either," he grumbled, remembering the thing. "It wasn't much of one."

"Well, obviously," she snipped. "I'm so glad they went to all the trouble of laminating it."

"The certificates are framed," he mumbled, finished fastening the holder and carefully adding the flower arrangement.

"Oh, how delightful. So, did we make dear little—what was it—_Quaterine_ legal beforehand?" she half-growled.

"Yes, by about four months I think," he nodded. "The birth announcement showed up on my desk on Valentine's Day. Apparently they thought that was cute."

"You're a little calm about this," Dorothy went back to her agitated voice again.

Finally looking straight up at her, he could only give her a smile. "I've had a long time to get used to it."

She hummed with a nod. "So what's the retaliation plan?"

With a laugh Quatre scooted over and got to his feet again. "With one against forty I haven't come up with anything."

Crossing her arms and looking at him, Dorothy hummed. "Then you should have called me in earlier."

"I was hoping that you wouldn't have to know about the 'Fezzes Non-Refundable Wedding Chapel,'" he explained.

"The what?" she started, chuckling at that despite her best efforts to stay angry, he was sure.

Quatre only shook his head. "It would have been a little more funny if Aleigha hadn't found that on my desk before I did," he sighed.

"Oh," she groaned. "That woman is always going to hate me!"

"Aleigha doesn't hate you," he blinked at her. When he was a met with a raised eyebrow, he relented a little. "Well, she doesn't. She's just… she's just Aleigha," he gave up. "You get used to her."

Dorothy actually broke out laughing. "She'd better know it was a poor joke."

"Trust me," he held up both hands in surrender. "I made that very clear."

"Well," she turned away and headed for the door, "one public embarrassment deserves another."

Quatre swallowed involuntarily and watched cautiously after her. "Dorothy?"

"Come along, _darling_," she drawled, twitching a finger over her shoulder for him to follow.

Deciding that he'd better make sure that she didn't do something to ruin the entire evening ahead of them, Quatre hurried along after her as she sauntered down the hall and up the main stairs. "Dorothy?" he asked again as she passed the second floor's landing and continued on. "What are you doing?"

"Well, you may not be able to handle forty to one, but I think we can handle twenty-seven to two."

Twenty-seven, the number of the guys that were here to help, excluding himself. He wondered if he should be worried that she had them all counted correctly. "And, what exactly are you planning?"

Dorothy hummed merrily along to herself as she passed the third floor landing and continued up still. Quatre paused and watched her worriedly before quickly trying to catch up. The forth floor came and went and there was no pause to her ascent.

"Where are we going?" he finally asked.

"Attic," she answered.

"Why?"

"Well, I got to thinking that it was a nice coincidence that our theme for the evening is pink. Just like the tea room that got converted into my cardboard nursery," she answered, bitterness still lining her voice. The bad joke was her own fault after all.

Stopping just above the sixth floor's landing he looked back down over the railing of the open staircase all the way down to the first floor, and then back up at her. "And?"

Dorothy gave him an evil giggle but didn't answer as she slipped from sight again and Quatre raced up the rest of the stairs to meet her as she pushed open the door at the top of the steps into the attic space above the main area of the chateau. The place was a half-organized mess. The trail through the dust was enough to indicate a path that people had been using recently, probably for the majority of the ballroom's accessories.

She led on though, shelves and boxes ignored as she expertly moved them to the edge of the path about of third of the way through the massive room. Coming to a rack that was zipped closed under a humidity suppression blanket, she began at one end and drew the front panel back.

Inside were garment bags and boxes probably twenty feet across. "I just had this brilliant idea that our servers should really match the décor a bit more, is all."

"I thought they had their uniforms?" The guys had been tucked into standard serving attire for the night, most of which had probably been taken from one of several of these types of racks that he spotted scattered around up here.

"They do."

Looking back at her, he watched as Dorothy traced her way over the boxes until she finally hummed an acknowledgement and brought one out, handing it to him without looking.

She rose as well and helped remove the top. Once done, she drew out a small protective bag and opened it to reveal a rather common bowtie. …A pink bowtie. …A pink bowtie that was made out of the same floral patterned brocade as the napkins on the tables downstairs.

And slowly a smile crept into his features as he looked from the bow to Dorothy.

She looked back at him, a predatory gleam settled in her eyes and an evil little smirk to her lips. "Some fathers pass out cigars," she shrugged.

"I don't smoke."

"And I like to be original," she agreed. Adding the little bow back to the box, she closed it again and quickly zipped the clothing preserver back into place.

"You're malicious," he finally broke out laughing at her.

"Yes," she shamelessly agreed and then stepped back to his side and leaned in towards his ear, "but only when I want to be."

* * *

"You're kidding… right?"

"I think they look nice," Quatre nodded.

Dorothy snipped away at a stack of extra napkins, cutting one into fourths. "Hold still," she commanded before Abdul tried to sneak away again. They had _randomly_ picked him out to be the one to try on his full attire, including the bowtie, which replaced the shoestring tie that she had originally decided on.

And to think that she'd been concerned that they wouldn't be comfortable. Well, she could fix that.

Rising, she brought the quarter of a piece with her and stepped up, folding it and adding it to his lapel pocket so that the corner stood up. "There we are."

Stepping back, she tucked herself at Quatre's side and they both nodded. "I like it," he agreed, perfectly serious looking.

"You know, if I'd thought of this sooner, we could have had cummerbunds made," she mused.

The collected men groaned in agony around them.

"Now, they still get flowers, right?" Quatre asked her.

They did now. "Oh yes, single roses. They'll go with the material in the pocket."

"What!" half the room chorused.

"I think they'll be just darling," she cooed, leaning her chin on her partner's shoulder.

"Absolutely adorable," he agreed.

It didn't take much for them both to begin cracking up laughing after that.

* * *

The change in attire didn't necessarily matter to him; it was centered on the formality of this task. But the call for the group photo was what tipped Rasid off that something really wasn't right.

Half of the conversation in the room stopped the instant he walked through the doors to the kitchen. The rest of the men were neatly assembled, bunched into a group at the side of the room as Lady Dorothy stood positioning a camera, Master Quatre behind her. The men were dressed in a modified tuxedo style, black jackets and pants, no vests, and the pink bowties.

The addition of pink roses to the lapels seemed a little strange with the thin ribbon that accented each one. These things resembled corsages more than boutonnières.

With a hum of acknowledgement he stepped over to Lady Dorothy and placed his hands behind his back to look over the suddenly quiet group of his men. "What did they do to deserve this?"

* * *

Leaving Hilde and Duo and the others to direct the delivery traffic for a while, Quatre had slipped away to change, wondering if there was any reason for Dorothy to have done to him what she did to the Mags. Granted he wouldn't have minded the pink anyway—well, maybe the bowtie.

It was a little bit of a surprise though when he pulled out the vest and found that it wasn't pink. Well, they weren't actually part of the staff or the guests of honor, so he supposed they shouldn't be now that he thought about it.

They were red and white instead.

He wasn't entirely sure about Dorothy's taste though, and by the time he got the neckerchief to stay in place and looked at himself in the mirror he wondered if this was supposed to be a pattern. The loose-ended material at his neck was white as customary, but was tipped at the end with a crimson red color. His vest was a low three button in the same red, giving him a two-tone appearance against the standard white shirt.

With a shrug he figured it would make more sense beside her probably.

There was a knock at his door and Quatre figured Dorothy was ready as well. "Come in," he called, taking his jacket off the hanger.

"Well, let's see it," Dorothy chimed in from the doorway as he heard her enter and then close the door behind her.

Turning, he swallowed the nervous edge that he was beginning to get as the time ticked down. But he was disappointed when Dorothy stood before him in a white bathrobe. "Um… I don't think you got us matched very well," he gave her an odd look before noticing her hair.

"I have another half an hour," she waved it off. "I never stuff myself in those things until the last minute."

Walking forward, she rustled as a puffy white skirt peeked through the robe and fell all the way to the floor. Her slip perhaps? Quatre ignored it once she added a stickpin to her mouth and opened a plastic flower box she had with her.

"Jacket please," she muttered around the pin.

Quickly he added his jacket and buttoned the top button for her as she stepped up with a single rose… a red and white, Fire and Ice, rose. With a laugh he decided he'd figured out the pattern of his vest finally.

Looking at her as she carefully positioned the flower, he again noted that her hair was down, only two little black barrettes holding the sides away from her face. Why was it that her accessories never seemed to match the outfit? "No headband tonight?" he asked.

With a chuckle, she shook her head. Taking the pin out of her mouth, she began pressing it behind the cloth and through the flower. "I'm afraid this is as close as you're going to get to me with my hair down. It annoys me too much otherwise."

Quatre blinked at her as she busily tried to get the pin through the bud. "I never meant to make you think I wanted you to change," he softly admitted, disbelieving that she did her hair this way for him.

"I know," she raised her eyes to his. "That doesn't mean I can't keep it in consideration."

Going back to frowning at the flower that was apparently being difficult, he watched her in amazement at those words. For some reason they struck so close to home in him. A warm feeling that he'd been missing from her in most of the last few days settled in as he gave her a smile whether she saw it or not and glanced back down at the flower. "And what's this?"

"You are about to enter a battlefield, Sir Knight," she flourished. "It is customary that you take your lady's favor with you."

_My lady's?_ he mentally stopped.

"Besides, you are technically a host," she reasoned a little more officially. Getting the pin in and tucked into the material so that it didn't poke him, she stepped back and tapped a finger to her chin as she looked him over. "Quite nice," she nodded.

"Well, thank you," he mumbled, shaking his thoughts away. "But this was your handy work."

"Hopefully it isn't the only thing that goes right, tonight," she shrugged. With a shake of her head she stepped back in again. "I haven't really said thank you to you during all of this. I know I haven't been the best to put up with and none of the guys have been nice to you," she added and rolled her eyes.

With a laugh he brushed it aside. "I'm used to it from most of them." Most anyway.

Returning his smile she slipped in to give him a hug, careful not to squish the little rose bud. And he returned it, feeling like it had been years since he last had her in his arms. Quatre had put himself through more emotional torture in the past few days than he could understand. It had all balled up inside him until the Marquis' words this morning ended up being the last crack in his fragile understanding of his love for her.

Somehow, none of it mattered as much right now. He just wanted to believe for a moment longer that in some small way, she really was his. …Even if she wasn't.

"Thank you," Dorothy softly interrupted him.

"Of course." Grudgingly he allowed her to lean back.

"Nervous?" she asked instead.

"Getting there," he admitted with a tight smile.

"You'll be masterful as always. You're not the one I'm worried about in the least," Dorothy shook her head. "Keep an eye on Heero with me?" she asked.

"Of course," he nodded solemnly.

"And you know the Marquis and Marchioness. Both are always a safe zone."

And even though he wasn't sure he'd consider the Marquis "safe" at this point in time, he chuckled at her in spite of himself. "Yes, General."

Dorothy seemed figure out what she was doing and sighed at herself. "You're right, you're right." Stepping away from him she moved back for the door. "Do be sure to allow me a first dance though." Opening the door, she turned back and looked him over once more with a smile. "It may be the only one I manage to get," she batted her eyelashes at him and slipped out.

And for the first time in days, Quatre was just happy to be here again.

* * *

The pieces of her hair that were pulled back in the barrettes had been curled into giant ringlets at the ends, giving her a softer look that usual. Her dress had been enough to basically stop Quatre in his tracks when she finally breezed out of her room all of five minutes ago.

Technically Dorothy was covered from her chin to the floor, but she was in no way prudish. A thin, crimson, satin strip hugged her throat, from there a type of filmy, see-through material covered down her shoulders until it reached her gloves and bodice, which created a straight line across her chest. …Meaning her gloves came up very high, and her neckline was quite low.

Modest but overly daring, as usual.

Her theme of red and white carried as her gown was red but the dress split down the middle to show a white inset, her chest was tied into a corset style waist and the skirts draped open in the front as they gathered into a bustle in the back. Quatre was beginning to wonder how she was going to sit down with that puff over her posterior.

He figured he'd find out soon enough.

"Can we go yet?" she asked again.

To humor her, he checked his watch. "Six minutes till."

The group of the presenters and the guests of honor, which now included the new arrival of the Foreign Minister and his wife, was standing in the hallway on the third floor waiting for the guests to be ushered into the ballroom below. It was enough to leave them all bored.

"Close enough, let's go," Dorothy poked him in the ribs to nudge him towards the stairs. The group chuckled at her as they all filed along down towards the ballroom to make their entrances.

Gathering again down the hall, they sent the Minister and his wife on first, Relena and Heero next, and then the Marquis stepped back to offer Dorothy is hand. "You are our hostess, Lady," he bowed formally to her.

"Well, thank you," she returned. Stepped up to his side, she laid her hand over his more as though he were presented her then escorting her, and they slowly made their procession forward behind the guests of honor.

That left him with Marchioness Elena and Quatre made a bow to her. "Does that mean I would be allowed your hand, Marchioness?"

"Oh, precious boy," she giggled at him. "Of course. But…." Tipping her head, she nodded over to her other side.

"Oh!" Getting the hint, Quatre quickly switched and offered her his other arm. "Sorry," he muttered in embarrassment.

"Don't worry a bit," she quietly took his arm and they moved along after their dates. "I still have to do this with him to," she nodded towards her husband with a giggle.

Laughing, Quatre didn't feel so bad, and when her free hand moved over the affectionately patted his elbow through hers he told himself to relax again.

He was in good company, he decided.

* * *

So far, so good. The meal had been the easy part. Miss Relena and Minister Wellington had been seated next to each other, opposite Dorothy and the Marquis as the official hosting couple. The respective dates were tucked next to their partners around the sides.

The pep-rally speeches given by the two running politicians were fun and lighthearted, allowing the friendly atmosphere of the night to continue as dessert was served and the small orchestra began something other than sleepy hold music. Still, very few ventured towards the dance floor until Minster Wellington finished a good-humored debate over which lovely lady next to him to ask to dance first, Relena or his wife.

Mrs. Wellington had readily waved him on without her. She and Marchioness Elena were giggling and chatting happily to themselves anyway.

"Well, Mr. Winner, might I attempt that with your date for the evening?" the Marquis jokingly asked him.

"I know better than to say no, Sir," Quatre nodded back, giving Dorothy a glance as she rolled her eyes between the two and tossed her napkin back onto the table.

"May I then, Lady Catalonia?" Marquis Wayridge rose to his feet and offered her his hand.

"I know better than to say no too, Marquis," she accepted and let him help her to her feet and guild her towards the floor.

So he was left with the two women across from him, who seemed to be having a lot of fun picking on their respective husbands, and Heero beside him, whom was doing a very good job at staying quiet and blending in with the tablecloth.

Somehow this seemed like entering Relena's Sanq Kingdom school all over again. At least no one had gotten the impression that poor Heero was his bodyguard this time around.

Quatre kept the smile off his face from the memory and finished his water as he watched the handful of couples twirl slowly around the floor. Another half an hour and the tables would be deserted for small pockets of conversation, dancing, or strolls around the available rooms and the gardens outside. He noted that some of the political associates were already busying themselves with looking over the architecture around them.

That was when things would get interesting.

"May I take your plate, Sir," a quiet, grouchy sounding voice stated over his shoulder.

Trying for all he was worth not to burst out laughing, he turned to look up at Manul. "Yes, thank you," he smiled.

With a nearly murderous look, the man took their dishes and added it to one of the trays being carried by several of the others. To his credit, Manul was actually very polite to the ladies on the other side of the table as he made the rounds. And they in return were very polite to comment that they liked the pink ribbon on the roses they were wearing.

"I'm going to pay for this," Quatre whispered towards Heero.

"Hn," he answered back. "Why the bowties?"

He wasn't quite sure which thing got him to laugh, the image of the pink bowties and ribbons wandering around the room, or the fact that Heero Yuy asked about them. "Let's just say that Dorothy doesn't always take a joke well."

The look he got in return made it clear that his friend wasn't going to ask for any more details than that.

"Sometimes, I'm really just thankful she's on our side," he reasoned, mostly to himself. Looking out to the floor again, he watched with an unsettled feeling as Dorothy glided along in the Marquis' embrace. Although, who was leading who was probably debatable.

"Your side."

He blinked back the image as he turned to face Heero again. "Excuse me?"

His friend was giving the rest of the room a quiet look, still on guard for anything suspicious. "Dorothy isn't loyal."

"Heero," he tried to admonish, surprised at him.

Abandoning his search, he met his eyes, as calmly focused as always. "She only respects individuals. Group loyalty is a façade."

Quatre slowly nodded, agreeing with that part. Dorothy never chose her position or opinion because of a slogan or mantra. She positioned herself according to the few people she believed in. "You're right."

"It's not us she's taken a side with," Heero finished, turning back to monitor Relena's position.

Quatre was struck for a moment by his friend's absolute assurance of that statement. He wasn't sure what made the man so certain, because he wasn't right. Now, more than ever, Quatre was aware that Dorothy was watching after all of them and then some.

He knew acutely how much Dorothy respected each of them. It wasn't only him she was concerned with in the least.

But…. Glancing down, Quatre adjusted the little rose on his lapel. He'd been wearing it like a badge of honor all night. Technically the Marquis had the same one pinned over his sash, but Dorothy's little comment of "a lady's favor" had struck him with the reality again that he was her date for the night.

Despite everything, she willingly held on to him.

It was enough to inspire that edge of over confidence in him. A feeling that he knew only she could give him.

Quatre had become aware this morning that he had been emotionally over-simplifying Dorothy down to the perfect character of a woman. The reality was far more complicated, and he was beginning to piece the picture of her back together in his mind.

But no matter how confused his emotions were she still inspired the same things in him when he was with her. She still inspired him to his best.

She made him fight.

Taking another look out at the dancing couples, he spotted her genuine smile as the Marquis spoke to her. Dorothy trusted him. And Quatre had no doubt that Wayridge was being truthful that this had all begun as her personal pet-project to ensure they're secrets. It was the type of daunting, impossible task that only she would believe could be done.

It had taken a life of its own from there. Now, from what she had hinted to him about, she was back to the sidelines, allowing the more seasoned people—like the Marquis—to take the brunt of the load. Always recon. That's what she'd said.

Casting Heero a look beside him, Quatre wondered for a second why his friend had made such a pronouncement about Dorothy's intentions. It seemed a little odd. The two weren't exactly the best of friends. But Heero never said or did anything he wasn't certain of.

So, even his most skeptical comrade had come to some type of positive conclusion about them. Quatre would accept that as a compliment.

* * *

"Mr. Winner."

"Marquis," he greeted again moving along the groups of people. He'd found the start of socializing to be typical enough. Dorothy was up to her old tactics, but tonight she was adding to the hushed whispers of her directives to him.

They were keeping an eye on Heero and Relena. Relena of course knew her way around these groups with ease, and she was keeping Heero neatly tucked at her side for the most part. That would probably prove more difficult as the night wore on.

According to Dorothy, he already had a small list of Relena's supporters that were not exactly Heero's supporters as well. The former ZERO pilot could handle his own in any fight, but Quatre was a little concerned that polite word battles were not going to be the man's strong suit. Especially if surrounded and cornered.

Quatre mentally rolled his eyes at the military terms going through his head. Leave it to Dorothy.

Whom, by the way, was… across the room towards the patio doors with someone. It was good to be hard to keep tabs on his date as well.

"I believe I'll get the honor of introducing you," Wayridge went on now that Quatre's appearance had broken up the conversation beforehand. "This is Senator Bridgeport, his territory is primarily the former providences of Western Europe."

"Senator, nice to meet you," he nodded politely and shook the man's hand. Tall, stately, and young. Quatre figured he was probably late twenties at the most, black hair, brown eyes, although a bit… crotchety looking.

He had to stop using Dorothy's terminology.

"You too, Mr. Winner. The news has covered your company quite extensively in the past month," the Senator replied.

"Unfortunately not for a reason I would have liked," Quatre gave in and smiled. He got the same comment no matter who he met around here.

A woman attired in a filmy, lilac gown slipped quietly up to the group from behind the Senator and Quatre quickly did a double take. The soft, pale purple accented her delicate frame. Long, coal black hair was wound intricately at the back of her neck and then left to trail down to mid-thigh, a silver comb tucked into it.

"Ah, then I should also get the pleasure of presenting my granddaughter to you, Mr. Winner. This is Leilalie Wayridge, my eldest grandchild." The Marquis offered his hand to her and she gave him an easy smile and took it as he brought her fully into the group towards them. "This is Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Miss Leilalie," he nodded respectfully and took her hand from the Marquis. "It's a pleasure," he smiled bowing to press a kiss to her hand.

Then this was the infamous Leilalie. Dorothy's twin.

Rising again, he met her eyes as she made the same pleasant remarks, dark brown eyes looked up at him under a heavy hood of sooty lashes. _"Light verses dark. A beauty verses a charmer."_

Davonte had been right. Except of course, that it had been in attitudes apparently that the artist had described them as light and dark. Dorothy held the pale features but the attitude of a charmer. This woman claimed a soft voice and demure actions, classifying her as the raven beauty.

Quatre wouldn't be one to refute that.

He was pulled away from his thoughts as the Senator moved the conversation on. "Mr. Winner, I'm sure you're following the new tariff bill. Does your company have any interest in importing to Earth if it goes through?"

"Of course," he answered honestly. "I completely understand some of the reluctance it is getting from Representatives who are afraid the Colonies will swamp the market here for land-based companies, but I'm still hoping to see it pass."

"There shouldn't be that much overlap, should there?" the Marquis added in.

"There will be some, of course," he nodded. "Basic necessity items are manufactured on both fronts independently since there has been so much conflict in the past between Earth and the Colonies. But I see it as a large step in the right direction."

"I haven't been all the impressed with the planning of it," Senator Bridgeport interjected. "It will put Earth and its more limited resource options at a disadvantage and I hate to see either side have to suffer."

Quatre blinked at him a moment, tying to figure out if the guy seriously thought anyone was buying that blatant act. "I doubt there are many goods that Earth is at a disadvantage for. Some of the raw materials probably, but things like water would be the exact opposite."

"Water?" the man questioned. "Does your mining company find and deliver that too?"

Quatre shook his head, not understanding why he'd ask. "No, of course not. We find very little, if any, frozen water on loose asteroids."

"Then why would you be concerned by the Sphere's water market?" Senator Bridgeport asked.

Quatre would have laughed if he'd thought the man was joking. Did this politician really think that he only allowed things that were solely in the best interest of his corporation? "Senator," he smiled, "it wouldn't do anyone any good to have all the iron ore in the Solar System if we died of dehydration."

Marquis Wayridge chuckled openly at that and nodded. "He has you there, Nelson."

"Of course," the Senator nodded, adding a chuckle of his own. "My apologies."

It was a cover and Quatre was sure of it. Greedy. No wonder this bill was having such a hard time passing. "Regardless of the financial aspect, the idea of allowing easy trade between the Earth and the Colonies is necessary to this time of peace and growth," he added, wanting to say something to stick in the politician's head at least.

"Very noble of you, Mr. Winner," Bridgeport commented, taking a drink from his glass.

"Common sense," he refuted with a smile. "This is an era that I don't want to see end."

There was a hum of acknowledgement from the Marquis beside him, and Quatre was sure the elder man understood the point.

"Senator Bridgeport? May I borrow you a moment?" another gentleman politely interrupted with a smile to the others.

"Of course. Gentlemen," he nodded before heading away, giving his date a peck on the hand as Leilalie remained by her grandfather.

"Have you spoken to your grandmother tonight?" the Marquis inquired, affectionately open with the young woman.

"Not since we've been here, no," she answered. "Should I find her?"

"I'm sure she'll like to see you tonight."

She nodded respectfully. "I'll be certain to see her then."

Once the conversation dropped, Quatre allowed a little curiosity, carefully studying the woman before him. "Miss Leilalie, if I may, are you a student?"

"Yes," she answered, those eyes swiveling back to him. "I will be attending University in the fall."

"Do you know your major?" he conversationally asked.

With a smile, she nodded, "Literature."

_How poetic_, he mused. "Do you want to teach then?"

"Perhaps," she offered.

No set plan or goal though. Granted, that was common for many first year college students, he supposed.

"Ah, it seems you'll need to excuse me as well," Marquis Wayridge broke in and excused himself towards a group where a woman was brightly smiling and waving him over.

Down to the two of them, Quatre quickly found the spot Dorothy had been a moment ago and discovered that she'd disappeared again. Deciding to allow himself, he turned back to the young woman. "Would it be out of line with your escort if I asked you for a dance, Miss Leilalie?"

"Not at all," she smiled. "I'd be delighted."

Taking her hand, he stepped out towards the dance area and slipped in to the waltzing couples.

"I will warn you though, that I'm not very good at this," Quatre quietly advised her with a shy smile.

Her giggle was honest as she nodded. "I promise not to mind."

Leilalie allowed him to lead her around the floor, his movements seeming a bit unsteady, but his conversation was openly good-natured. This man was probably younger that she was and he seemed quite different than most here. "I'm sorry to seem ignorant," she finally allowed herself to speak first since his pauses were inviting. "But what is it that you do? Senator Bridgeport and my grandfather seemed to think you had an interest in the Colonies."

"I am a Colonist to start with," he answered easily. "I'm also the president of Winner Enterprises. That's the company that the Senator was asking about."

It had taken this very young man this long to tell her that he was a corporate president? Leilalie stared at him a moment in abandon. "President?"

Almost shyly, he nodded, "Yes. The position has been basically passed down in my family since the Colonies were first established. Our main business is mining for resources from asteroids."

"That must be a difficult task," she wondered.

"There are never-ending improvements to be made," he agreed and left it at that.

How odd. This man was nothing like she would expect. His conversation with her grandfather and the Senator had made her think that as well. He seemed very nice.

"If I may ask, how do you know Lady Catalonia?" she asked, emboldened by his friendliness.

With a smile and a little chuckle, he seemed to think on that a second. "Well, actually we met because of Miss Relena. For a short time we were both at her school in the former Sanq Kingdom. After the war I met her again, and we worked together on a colony fabrication project."

"Oh," she quietly returned. There was something in his eyes that made her believe that there was quite a story in there somewhere. "I see. I didn't realize you knew the Vice Minister personally."

"I like to consider us friends," he easily returned.

With a teasing smile, Leilalie couldn't help herself. "And the Lady Catalonia is also considered a friend?"

He faltered only a second before nodding. "Yes. We've been very good friends for some time."

Very good friends. Perhaps that wasn't so odd. Dorothy had always been good friends with Andrew and Byron as well, and both always spoke of her with that same look to their eyes that said there was a long story behind it. Leilalie supposed she could see how this gentleman was somehow like those two. "I see. It's been some time since I've seen Lady Dorothy. I suppose it would explain it if she were visiting the Colonies often," she giggled.

"She has a number of projects off-world," Mr. Winner nodded, returning a handsome smile. "Do you know her well?"

"Socially more than anything," she shook her head. "We didn't attend the same school."

"Yes, I've gotten to meet a couple of her old classmates who are now with the Preventers."

With a hum of recognition she nodded happily. "Andrew Varnhem and Byron Solvana."

"You know them both then," he nodded, confirming that.

"Yes," she smiled. "Mr. Varnhem and I are sociable."

There was a chuckle from Mr. Winner and he looked at her curiously. "I'm sorry, but what does 'sociable' mean?"

Bashfully she looked up at the true gentleman before her. "Very good friends."

* * *

Dorothy had finally managed to escape the conversation with the guy with the bad sideburns and his constant droning about how the wheat harvest numbers from North American were being caused by the latest environmental "crisis" that no one else in the room had ever heard of. Something about sea shells she didn't follow but apparently did too good of a job of pretending to.

"Oh shoot me," she moaned to herself as she slipped away across the back terrace. She spotted a couple groups of people out here enjoying her hard-eared, immaculate gardens.

"I am armed," came her answer.

"Well now, that's frightening," she stopped and turned to squint into the shadows between the patio doors and the windows into the ballroom.

"I'm a better shot than you," Andrew answered.

"You haven't proven that lately," she cooed, stepping over to blend into the shadows with him, the area relatively vacant. "I may surprise my old teacher," she gave him a catty smile.

"I'm surprised enough," he shook his head, and focused his attention back towards the ballroom again. His stance against the rock of the house allowed him to see both inside and down three of the garden paths from here.

Surprised enough? What was that supposed to mean? Looking at him in the uneven lighting, she decided to not ask. "Anything we should know about?" Dorothy asked instead.

"Nothing out of the usual. Reports are good," he informed her.

Usual. Yes, it was all too bloody usual. "Wonderful," she half-enthusiastically waved it off.

Turning back, she was sure she saw him raise an eyebrow at her. "Problem?"

"None, Admiral," she returned in kind.

He turned away again to watch the swirling guests mix in colorful little piles.

This man was probably the most capable of understanding the thoughts carving through her, but for Dorothy Catalonia to voice them would probably give the poor soul a heart attack. She had tried so hard to be such a pathetic human being when she was younger.

Fine then. Her little annoyed use of self-pity could just….

The swish of pale lavender caught her eye before she could even finish her excuse for a pep talk. A strapless gown of simple lines with a layer of organza sweeping after the skirts. It couldn't possibly have been any more refined and pristine. Unless, of course, it was the woman who wore it.

Ah yes, "Princess" Leilalie. Dorothy had had an unhealthy eye on the woman all night. Oh, and look, there goes Quatre schmoozing her already.

Rolling her eyes out of sheer irritation, she turned to look out at the gardens instead. "How many are out?" she asked conversationally.

"Eleven at the moment," Andrew answered. "Twelve including you."

"Do I get to count as my own guest?" she humorlessly mused. "How fun."

"You didn't have to host this if you're going to sulk about it," he teased her, the smile evident even if she didn't see it.

Turning, she pinned him with a glare but gave up when he continued to watch the ballroom. "I've never said no to the Marquis, I don't know how to now," she pathetically defended herself.

"He's never said no to you either," Andrew quietly informed her.

Again she looked at him oddly. "How's that?"

"Just an observation," he shook his head and then finally turned to look at her. "Aside from why you did it, you do believe in Miss Relena, don't you?"

Dorothy found that an odd question from him, but moved to look into the room again. "Undoubtedly," she answered with a nod. "I always have. Something about a passionate soul always gets to me," she smiled to herself. Yes, Miss Relena had never failed to impress her.

"I understand that part," Andrew quietly spoke to himself.

"Hmm?" She watched him a moment, but his focus was once again somewhere else and there was nothing else coming. Well, he should know by now that Relena was one enflamed politician to be reckoned with anyway.

It was the twirl of lavender that pulled her eyes back into the room again. Dorothy blinked, following the graceful pattern as Quatre waltzed Leilalie around the floor, sweeping her around the edge of the area basically in front of them.

_Well, I do hope you're enjoying yourself_, she bitterly berated him inside her own head.

Oh, who was she kidding? If Quatre got her to string more than three words together he'd be taken with her. And Leilalie was the one giggling.

And as they circled through the other couples around the floor towards the other side, she noticed his leading hand unconsciously close around hers as he laughed. She gave up being bitter and closed her eyes with a smirk. "I'm afraid you may need to watch your girlfriend, Andrew," she teased, knowing simply by the amount of silence that he'd been focused on the same thing.

"You're going to have to reclaim your boyfriend," he tossed right back at her.

That was low. "Another time, I'm afraid," she waved it off. "As you were, Officer." Pivoting away, Dorothy stepped back around to the doorway and entered again, feeling that she was escaping one uneasy companion for an unsettling situation.

Tossing a quick look around she found the pair still dancing. Well, Quatre was fine. She spotted Relena across the floor at the edge of a group and….

Dorothy paused and scanned the group again, coming up empty a second time. Where did Heero run off to? It wasn't like—uh oh.

* * *

Quatre didn't get it. Miss Leilalie was actually a very sweet person. If allowed, she did open up a little and speak more freely. Yes, Dorothy was right about the "princesses" not holding opinions on apparently anything that would be spoken about at a function like this, but that could simply be from an honest lack of interest. He knew he was bored half the time too.

Why the rivalry? Was it really just because of Andrew then? Because they were "sociable" and Dorothy had figured out she didn't like that idea?

That wasn't the conclusion he wanted to draw.

From the corner of his eye he spotted Relena at the edge of a group at the side of the dance floor. And then he turned back and looked over that group again. Heero wasn't—uh oh.

The small orchestra slowed their ending to the song, and Quatre guided them back towards the seating areas. "Thank you, Miss Leilalie," he smiled at her as the turned to walk off the floor.

"Of course, Mr. Winner. It was my pleasure."

Another quick look and he found Heero still stuck in the same group, one hand balled into a fist at his side. The conversation was not going his way then. Quatre had a mental checklist of people that either Dorothy or Relena had pointed out as having issues with either Heero personally, or the Preventers as whole. And the one in the middle there was definitely on that list.

A gathered bustle of crimson red caught his attention for a second as he made eye contact with Dorothy. She was politely rushing to the rescue and he breathed a sigh of relief. Snapping back to this company he gave Leilalie a bow and pecked a kiss on her hand again as she giggled at him for it and humored him with a curtsey. "The pleasure was mine," he flashed her a parting smile.

He got a demure nod in return as he slipped away towards Heero and Relena, only to be called over by a business acquaintance he'd been avoiding most of the night. Dorothy had already separated the group around Heero and was speaking with them now. He supposed it would be best to leave it to her anyway.

Quatre joined another group, all colonist he noted quickly, and got a round of introductions he was barely paying attention to. But he let himself relax as Dorothy apparently removed Heero from harms way physically as well as socially. The two walked out towards the dance floor and their practicing came in handy.

Trying to keep his smile down, he tried to pay attention to the conversation around him. Dear Dorothy. She was a General unwilling to lose any of her men. It made no difference if they were enlisted or not. She would no doubt give him a piece or two of her famous advise, teach him a little of how to get himself out of the same situation again, and then lead him right back to Relena's side.

All this time Quatre had never doubted that she really was a dearly kind person. If he was reforming his vision of her, he could only include this as the newest proof of that.

The people around joked over a number of things and the conversation again turned to the tariff bill and back again. And as expected, as he kept a light watch on them, Dorothy once again led Heero back towards the group Relena was in. Of course, it would take a knowledgeable person to spot that it was her doing the leading.

Once safely there she spoke to Relena, more than likely teasing that Dorothy had been the one to get a dance, and then she was off again… in the opposite direction.

It was going on an hour and a half since Quatre had even gotten to speak with her. Typically she popped in to at least check with him once an hour.

As he wondered at it, he watched only from the corner of his eye as she spoke to one of the Maguanacs at the drink table, he wasn't sure who from this angle. Quatre began to wonder if something was wrong.

However, after a minute she slipped away again, but not before she picked up a glass of champagne to take with her. Finding the next opening he excused himself from his conversation group and quickly went after her.

Dorothy made it a rule not to drink during an event like this. She'd told him that herself once, saying it detracted from getting information from the more tipsy guests if she was also impaired. He hadn't paid much attention to it before now since it didn't apply to him, and most places on Colony and around Earth the drinking age was too high for her regardless. This area still had no legal age restrictions.

Circling around the floor he smilingly pushed his way through, but for every step he took, Dorothy beat him to it. After having to politely say hello or a group or two and moving on, he finally managed to get close enough to hear her voice as she politely accepted an invitation to dance from someone else.

Setting her glass on an unoccupied table, she let the gentleman lead her towards the floor and Quatre gave up. He shouldn't assume anything was the matter anyway. She was probably just checking to be sure the company sent them the right bottles she'd asked for.

Brushing it off, he turned to find someone else to speak with but stopped short and turned back, casually walking up to the table she'd passed by. The champagne flute was indeed there, a ring of her lipstick on the rim marking it as undoubtedly hers.

But it was already empty.

* * *

By the time the guests were gone and she had shooed even Relena off to bed, Dorothy was more than ready for that second glass of champagne that she'd asked the guys to set back for her during their clean up. Finding the half bottle still in an ice bucket, she pulled the loosened cork out again and searched the area for a glass until she found an unused box of those too.

"Dorothy?"

"Too bad you don't drink, Mr. Winner," she mumbled as she poured the glass. "They left me half a bottle of the better stuff."

"That's alright," he seemed to brush it off. "…Should you be having that this late?"

Quickly emptying half the glass, she refilled it in answer. "What does being late have to do with it?"

She was about to take another drink when he stopped her with a light touch on her wrist. Annoyed with him for the twentieth time tonight, she turned over her shoulder to look at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, obviously worried.

A glass and a half of champagne and he was cutting her off? This man obviously had no idea what her typical alcohol limit was. But nose to nose with that look of his, she rolled her eyes and turned around the other way, taking both her glass and the bottle with her. "You're not prepared to believe me if I say yes, are you?"

"No."

"I didn't suppose," she muttered, walking over to the far table at the end of the ballroom next to the patio doors. The chateau was locked down again so there was no going outside.

Lightning flickered along the clouds in response to her thoughts. Well, so much for that anyway.

"See. I told you it would rain," she sighed. The only lights still on where the ones at the front of the room where they had piled the mess for the night. Here it was dim and easier on her mind. Setting her glass and the bottle on the table, she pulled out two chairs and sat them next to each other and then kicked off her shoes and sat down, using the second seat to tuck her feet up on.

"It didn't rain during the event. I think people were impressed with your garden layout," he helpfully reminded her.

Sweet, sunshiny outlook, Quatre. "Yes, I suppose," she agreed just to humor him.

Taking her glass back, she held it in her lap but now decided she didn't really want it. Dorothy had never drank in front of him before. She found that disrespectful towards his beliefs even though he had, of course, never said anything.

She was just feeling sorry for herself, wasn't she? Oh how the mighty had fallen. Who was she kidding? "I'm sorry, Quatre. You don't need to baby-sit me. I'm not going to drink myself into a stupor or anything. I'm just tired and I am going to sit here and celebrate that this is over for a minute or two."

"Is that a heavy hint for me to leave?" he grudgingly asked.

Dorothy didn't mean for him to take it like that, but as she looked up at her side at him she wondered if she shouldn't just say yes. But with a smile, all she could do was shake her head and remind herself that he looked awfully cute in a tux. "No, that's not what I was hinting," she softly corrected. "But you don't need to stay."

With a shrug, he took another chair and brought it up against hers and sat down. "Nothing else to do. Maybe I have a malicious plot to get you drunk and take advantage of you."

And he almost said it with a straight face. Dorothy laughed for all she was worth at this point. "Master Winner!" she chided. "I'll drink to that," she shamelessly giggled and took a sip.

"Sure. There are a number of things I wouldn't mind hearing you slur out an honest answer to," he teased.

Swallowing, she turned to stare at him. "You're going to take advantage of me for _information_?" she whimpered. "Oh, that makes me feel attractive," she huffed, looking back out at the dark gardens.

"Dorothy!" he went appalled.

"Could have at least made a joke that helped my ego," she grumbled at him. Taking another swig from her glass she decided this man should have driven her to drinking years ago.

"Your ego has never needed helping," he chuckled. "But just the same, I do think you're entitled to a congratulations for all of this."

With a hum, she nodded to herself. "Thank you. It went well, didn't it?"

"I thought so," he agreed. For a minute there was nothing more, and she watched a flicker or two of lightning move along the sky outside. "What's wrong, then?" he asked, very quietly drawing her attention back.

It didn't work. Her eyes never left the view of the terrace railing. "I just feel terribly… unsuited for this sometimes," she confessed.

Quatre blinked at her profile as he watched her set like a stone on the chair beside him. "Unsuited?"

"Have you ever felt you should be someone else?" she inquired, never turning to look at him.

"I think everyone does from time to time," he nodded.

Finally she moved enough to shake her head. "No. I mean, have you ever looked at a person and known that that was who you were supposed to be?"

"I'm not sure I'm following you," he confided.

With a hum, she closed her eyes and bowed her head for a moment. "You got to meet Miss Leilalie Wayridge tonight, didn't you?"

Oh. "Yes, I did."

"How did you find her?" she asked, now of all times turning to look at him.

"Find her? She seemed very nice," he answered honestly.

"Yes. She's a sweetheart really," Dorothy commented and turned away once more.

And that was it. For a minute he watched her just watching the dark doors and windows. "What did that have to do with anything?" he finally whispered, completely confused with her.

"She's who I'm supposed to be."

Dorothy was supposed to be Leilalie? Why? Because of Andrew again? Was she trying to put herself in the place of his newest interest?

"For what?" he asked, turning to face her and drawing her attention finally. "What does she have that you don't?" he specifically asked, needed to hear her actually say it.

She met his eyes for a moment. "…Nothing," she answered slowly. "It's what she's done with it."

Done with it? Done with him? Leilalie was keeping Andrew. Is that what she meant? That she should have…?

And Quatre wasn't immediately sure who to feel worse for. Himself… or her, who was obviously discovering this too late. "Dorothy?"

She turned to watch a few light raindrops get tossed against the patio doors by the breeze outside. How could he possibly sit here and try to help her through a heartache like this when he was the one that felt like his chest was being stepped on.

"Leilalie and I used to be referred to as the 'twins,'" she slowly began again. And he sat and listened to her, wondering if he would have to admit that he knew that already. "We both carry claims to a title, and are usually courted as such. We are the same age, the same background. Even our fathers both died within three months of each other. We basically had the same life. But she turned out to be the prize of Romafeller, and I… became the closet mistress."

That wasn't true. Quatre couldn't believe it was. Marquis Wayridge was an example of those that obviously thought very highly of her.

"For years it annoyed me to always be compared to Leilalie. She was always this sweet, docile, little airhead who wouldn't say a word that might displease a single living soul. I couldn't stand that. She was perfect." Pausing, she turned to look at him a little before focusing back outside. "She still is."

He sat and studied her for a second, not understanding that. Dorothy shouldn't have considered Leilalie any more perfect now than she had years ago. Dorothy just wasn't the type of woman to think of shyness as a positive quality. Quatre may or may not agree with that, but he was sure he would not have considered Miss Wayridge perfect regardless.

"She forces me to realize that that is exactly how I should have turned out," Dorothy quietly wrapped it together for him. "I should be content with a life of quiet study and intricate balls and a line of suitors at my door for every formal function. I should be gracious and charming and soft-spoken."

"Not everyone is the same," he tried to interject.

"I could have been," she whispered back before strengthening her voice. "Instead of battle strategies I could have practiced painting. Instead of conning my way into sitting in on the war councils, I could have sat and listened to the women discuss sewing and floral arranging. There are a hundred things I could have done instead of taking the road I did," she sighed. "But I had to be different."

She paused to look down at her glass that she was holding in her lap. He didn't know what to tell her. It wasn't right to have self-doubts like this.

"I could have been just another guest here tonight," she continued with a shake of her head. "I could have given my hand to any number of title hunters, although I would have never thought of them like that. And after it was all said and done, I would go home and lay down with nothing more troubling on my mind than whether the charming Mr. Winner found me enticing or not," she chuckled and turned to give him a catty smile.

He snorted at the reference. "I somehow truly doubt that either of you will be wondering that tonight."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Raising her glass she took a sip and turned back to the doors. "I'm not who I'm supposed to be," she stated more to herself than to him. "Sometimes… sometimes I have to face the consequences of that."

Lowering her eyes to her glass again, she left it at that.

And Quatre watched her, torn as to what to think. This wasn't like Dorothy at all. For her to have admitted all of this was uncharacteristic, but she was still holding back. He knew she was; could feel that she was.

Tentatively he reached over and touched her chin, turning her face to him to make her look up. "I don't know who you're _supposed_ to be," he whispered. "And I don't know who it is that you think you have to be that for. But for three years I have known the person you are." Moving his hand, he gently brushed the hair from her barrette back over her shoulder like usual. "All I do know is that I wouldn't change you." She gaped at him openly for a second and he could only return a smile he didn't really feel. "How could I?" he asked.

Whether she came to terms with that or not, he wasn't sure. But she turned away, sighing to herself. "I suppose I'm just being pitiful, aren't I? Think how much peace of mind you'd have if you didn't need to patch me together all the time."

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and sat back in his chair again. "All I have to do is wait for you to snap out of it," he teased.

With a chuckle she moved her glass back to the table and then leaned into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. "Thank you," she quietly returned. "I… appreciate that."

Quatre took one of her hands from her lap and folded their fingers together, wishing she didn't have gloves on. "I appreciate you."

She gave him a little giggle for it. "I appreciate you too," she responded. "I suppose I should tell you that more. I do hope you know it regardless. I think I tend to have a blind spot for that."

"It's not usually vocal," he smiled at the idea. "But you show it."

"Vocal?"

"One of your many quirks. Like your shoes," he nodded to where the little, flat pair of sandals had been kicked off under the edge of the table. "You practically went barefoot to try to make me look taller, didn't you?"

Dorothy laughed and picked her head up to nod before leaning in to nuzzle against his ear. "You're not supposed to notice those things."

"Of course I notice them. I've been around you too long not to." Shying away from her attempts to give him goosebumbs, he turned to face her. "What's the truth? Why are you suddenly concerned with the path you've taken?"

Rolling her eyes at herself she sighed again. "This isn't sudden, Quatre. It's been coming for months. Ever since I pulled my mother's ring out, I've known—" she stopped herself. "I never had to really deal with it before. Now that I've actually entered 'normal' life… it kind of sucks."

And he laughed despite himself. She'd always had a way with words.

Dorothy placed her cheek back on his shoulder. "Being faced with Leilalie again just didn't help my ideas that I'm better off this way."

Quatre listened to that, repeating the words in his head. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this really wasn't about Andrew… exclusively. That was a hopeful notion. "No one can ever know that," he quietly responded. "And there's only one thing that I do know that might make you feel better."

"Hmm? What's that?"

Setting his cheek against the top of her head, he squeezed her hand in his. "I'm better off with you this way."

Dorothy gave him a happy little chuckle. "I think that would be debatable at best, darling."

"I'll debate it then," he answered.

"Always so stubborn," she teased.

"You or me?"

"…Both," she admitted.

He nodded, agreeing with that.

"Well, what do you say we forsake this before I let the champagne put me to sleep on you?" she mumbled, snuggling into his side.

Quatre wasn't sure he'd mind, but he did figure she deserved her rest. "Tell me you're all right, first?" he asked.

"Hmm. I'll be fine, love. I promise. You really shouldn't let me worry you," she mumbled.

And all at once his heart skipped a beat. Turning his face, he pecked a kiss in her hair and shifted to stand up, pulling her hand and helping her up too. "That's what I'm here for," he smiled.

With a chuckle she bent down and picked up her shoes. Rising, she gave her champagne glass a passing look but obviously decided against it and simply began tugging him along after her towards the hallway. They wound through the hall and up the stairs, both clicking off lights as they went. Finally getting to their rooms for the night, Quatre grudgingly let go of her hand but turned her around and pulled her into a hug.

Dorothy returned it, but backed away as she moved a hand to adjust the rose that was still pinned to his jacket. Looking down between them, he smiled at the match they made. The V that was made from his low vest and the V created by her corset was a rather cute idea. The only difference was in the crimson ribbons that crisscrossed down her chest and stomach.

Forcing his mind away from such areas, he looked up at her face again as she pulled away and turned to enter her room. "If it helps you sleep better," he quietly paused her, leaning over her shoulder towards her ear with a smirk, "I would confess I find you enticing."

He almost laughed when she started and snapped back to try to look at him. Quatre didn't wait for her to see the grin on his face and started off towards his own room. "That's not going to help me sleep better at all," she mockingly grumbled back at him.

* * *

"The earliest blossoms are always the most beautiful because they are the first we see. But they bloom only once."

He finally understood. Commander Sada'ul was hardly talking about Dorothy at all. He was talking about him. Quatre had found his first love, the first he'd 'seen.' And she was beautiful, the most beautiful, because he refused to see any of her faults.

First love blooms only once. No matter what, he would never love anyone like this again. He wouldn't even love her the same way after this.

And that was fine with him.

* * *

"True love is when you put someone on a pedestal, and they fall - but you are there to catch them." - Author Unknown 


	50. Chapter 50

_Revelations _  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 50 

"…_love."_ Quatre almost giggled at it. She'd actually called him "love." He felt like he'd been promoted.

_"I'll be fine, love."_

Alright, yes, Dorothy was tired, and stressed, and had at least two glasses of champagne in her. And yes, it was still just a random pet name. But… well, he'd take it. He'd graduated from "dearest" and "darling" to "love."

It didn't take much to make him happy.

He'd woken almost blissfully content and then promptly rolled over and closed his eyes again. The windows were still dim and he had no intentions of being the first one up this morning.

He wondered idly if he should be a bit more concerned about their ending conversation last night though. He wasn't convinced that Dorothy was really all right with everything yet. Figuring he had read too much into her emotions, he tried to keep himself to remembering her actual words, but there was something underneath it all. Something was bothering her.

Truthfully it never did any good to try to coax Dorothy into admitting things that she didn't want to. Even if he did "fight like a girl" she was too stubborn to just open up and get it off her chest.

That was alright, he'd be here when or if she felt she was ready to talk about it. It's all he could do.

In the mean time…. _"…love."_

* * *

Dorothy tucked the last of the boxes away in the clothing preserver, still not quite getting the smirk off her face as she thought of the bowtie wars. By the time this—albeit very mild—humiliation trickled through the rest of the corp. she was sure the guys would be sufficiently put in their place for the time being. 

She didn't care if it was Quatre's mother, she was not naming her daughter Qauterine.

Footsteps thumped along the dry floorboards, echoing a little in the high, unconfined space of the attic. Turning she found Andrew carrying a couple boxes of napkins, and dropped down to kneel in front of the last shelf. "I took everything out of here, you would think they would fit back in, wouldn't you?" she mumbled, rearranging things.

"I doubt it," he answered handing her the boxes. "It takes years of practice to squish things like this into small spaces."

With a chuckle, she nodded. "One of the many feminine talents I didn't bother to pick up. I'm beginning to regret some of that now," she shook her head.

"Odd coming from you."

"I know," she waved it off. Wiggling the last box into place, she got it mostly lined up with the others and wedged tight enough that it wouldn't be coming out any time soon.

"Shouldn't be a surprise."

Blinking, Dorothy looked up at him. Andrew was leaned against the rack, thoughtfully staring into space. "What shouldn't?"

With a smirk, he looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "That you're finally developing a true feminine side."

She didn't think she cared for that insinuation. "You still think you're witty, don't you?"

Giving the box another rough shove it still didn't budge any farther. Shrugging she gave up and began zipping the bottom corner of the preserver blanket closed.

"Does he know?"

Dorothy stopped, her fingers tightening on the zipper involuntarily. Warily she turned her eyes up to Andrew, but he was once again only thoughtfully looking elsewhere. "Does who know what?"

Closing his eyes, Andrew gave her a soft sigh. "Allow me a little credit, General. I can never stop halfway if I'm curious about something."

And she froze. Dorothy stared up at him, scared to spar against him now. She had lost the last time, and apparently worse than she had realized.

Andrew finally opened his eyes again and turned to look down at her, obviously not expecting the silence. He was met with a dark look as Dorothy purposefully kept quiet. It wasn't what her old rival would expect, but she couldn't take the offensive to a challenge this time. Not if….

Visually surprised with her, he softened his expression again. "I think I underestimated." Turning away again, he took a breath and crossed his arms in front of him. "You said that you both had nightmares," he softly continued. "When I asked what it was that held you to him, all you said was 'nightmares.' That was a bit too much of a hint."

Dorothy mentally cursed herself. She had thought he would leave Quatre alone after that. She knew that being honest with him would give some of it away, but she thought that would be enough for him. "I thought you would have trusted me enough to let it go," she quietly confessed, lowering eyes back to the boxes in front of her.

"This never had anything to do with trust," he refuted. "No one bothered to trust me enough to even believe I joined the Preventers for the right reasons. Byron and I have been watched constantly, and you know it."

"That doesn't have anything to do with this," she argued, snapping her head up to look at him.

"Of course it does." He calmly met her eyes. "Who is the most likely candidate to figure out your little cover up but someone like me?"

_Her_ little cover up.

Dorothy knew she was defeated before she even raised her foil. Lowering her eyes again, she slowly rose to her feet. The only way to salvage this now was to appease whatever it was he wanted. Mentally cursing again, she brushed off the dust from the knees of her slacks. "Get on with it then."

"I'm not making a threat, Dorothy," he returned.

Straightening to full height, she met his eyes, every ounce of fear and anger in her focused on showing him that she had no intentions of being intimidated regardless. "I said get on with it."

"Ouch," he mumbled, lowering his head. "Quatre Raberba Winner. Gundam pilot. 04. Typically noted for being the least impulsive, and sometimes backed by a squadron of other unknown mobile suits. Am I close?"

Dorothy stood, cold as stone in front of him, her eyes never leaving his face as he looked up at her again.

"I thought so," he nodded, her silence confirming it to him. "Although, from having met the man first, I almost didn't believe it. The only real confirmation I could get was the fact that you were the one behind hiding it."

Her mental curses got more profane this time.

"The others are harder to place," he thoughtfully added, turning to glace towards the door to the stairway. "But I don't imagine it would do my health any good to speculate farther."

_Especially with three of them in the house, is what you mean_, she mentally retorted.

Turning back, he had to have seen the murderous look in her eyes, but he softly gave her a chuckle and smiled at it. "I'm sorry. I know how you hate to lose."

"If you knew all this already, why are you asking me?" she quietly sidestepped.

"This isn't what I asked," he shook his head. "I asked if he knows."

Dorothy blinked, her anger turning to dust and leaving her throat dry.

Giving her a patient look, Andrew softened his expression again as he watched her. "I couldn't care less about this man, and never will." Uncrossing his arms he stepped up to her, gently holding her chin up to meet his eyes. "You were always the one to pick out the strongest around you. How you ended up so cozy in this group surprised me, but it makes sense. But why him?"

Why Quatre? Why else? Her last recourse was to try to make him understand. "…He saved me," she whispered. Andrew wasn't expecting that obviously. No, she was sure he wasn't. "I gave them back what they gave me. A second chance."

The silence stretched between them as he studied her eyes. She'd stunned him.

Well good. "No, he doesn't know. If I can help it, he won't either."

"That's not fair," he shook his head at her. Dorothy blinked at him, thrown off guard again. "You're always so willing to bear the brunt of everything alone. It's annoying," he chided. "But that's not what I'm asking either. Does he know why you're actually attached to him?"

"What?" Attached to him?

"You have your reason for backing him, but that's not all… or is it? The man doesn't deserve to believe you care if you only feel obligated." Leaning closer to her, he brushed her cheek with his thumb as he held her face.

Dorothy stood there, feeling like the light touch on her chin was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Was Andrew actually…?

"When are you just going to let someone care about you?"

Releasing her just like that, he turned and walked away. Dorothy stood, unflinching, listening to this footsteps soften into silence as he descended the stairs.

* * *

"Andrew." 

He looked up from packing his bag to confirm the man in the doorway. "Quatre." That was fast. Andrew had hoped to avoid this.

The younger man took that as an invitation apparently and let himself into his room, closing the door on this conversation. This should give him the man's true colors, he assumed. It wouldn't be a total loss.

Continuing with his packing, he didn't bother letting Quatre try to start. "I'm not a threat to you," he skipped to the point.

"I know you're not."

That got his attention.

"I have no intentions of making you an enemy, Andrew," he continued, calmly reasonable. "I've had far too many of those already."

Andrew almost smirked. So, he'd gotten the little pilot ruffled. How cute. Dorothy's tastes hadn't changed a bit then. He'd allowed this man time during this week to somehow impress him. As of yet, Andrew was still only considering him half-worthy. Well then, he had nothing left to lose in this duel.

Oblivious to the challenge, Quatre seemed to feel the need to defend himself. "None of us really expected to live through the war. We didn't expect a second chance. But we've come to appreciate it."

Was this guy always so earnest about everything? "Why would I begrudge that? Do you think that I don't appreciate you and your friends' sacrifices? I'm not interested in retribution or so-called justice. The fact that you are all still alive and going about your 'second chances' is exactly what you deserve for your heroics."

Well, that certainly surprised someone. How did Andrew get to be the villain of this story? Quatre blinked at him, the thinly veiled anger in his eyes bleeding out again.

"Mr. Winner, I respect a lot of people I don't like," he confessed. "Don't take it so personally."

He went back to stuffing his bag as the man stood there dumbfounded. No, not impressive at all. He'd been hoping for more.

"This is completely about Dorothy then." It wasn't a question.

There. "Of course it is. Did you think I had any real interest in you?"

"Why?"

Andrew looked back at him from the corner of his eyes. "I'm a sore loser."

Quatre scrutinized him a second before he nodded to himself. "And you really think you lost her to me."

_Now you've come to the challenge_, he smirked to himself. "Shouldn't I? Would you honestly tell me that you're not interested?"

"I'll honestly tell you that she isn't mine," he retorted.

With a smile, Andrew nodded and went back to finishing his packing. "Dorothy will never be completely anyone's. You know that. That doesn't mean that she isn't taken."

Finishing, he zipped his bag closed and tossed the strap over his shoulder, picking up his other case as well. Turning to face the former pilot, he waited but Quatre apparently wasn't going to respond to that accusation.

Perhaps he couldn't yet. No matter. "My goal is to see her looked after, Quatre," Andrew honestly confessed. "I will only help you do that once. Don't wait for her to come to you. It won't happen," he warned.

Whatever Quatre had come here expecting to gain or do, obviously this wasn't it. "I'll look after her. But I don't think I need advice from you," he quietly returned, stepping away from the door so Andrew could pass.

_Touché._

With a nod of acknowledgement Andrew passed him and opened the door to leave. Walking away towards the stairs he still wasn't sure he condoned his General's choice, but then again… perhaps Andrew and Dorothy had both come to discover that it was easier with a gentler soul.

In that case, he supposed he should have told Quatre he wished him well.

* * *

Dorothy had single-handedly destroyed the security net surrounding the former pilots. She knew that Andrew had the means to figure out Quatre's real past, but she thought she had put an end to his desire to find it. It wouldn't really have taken much, a few "innocent" questions to the right people. Andrew was an upstanding and devoted man, no one around here would have found it all that odd that he was wanting to know what she'd been up to and why that was concerned with a mere colony business owner. 

Looking back she saw all of her faults that lead up to this. From the moment that Andrew stepped back into her life like that she should have known. And once they joined the Preventers, it had been her first instinct to suspect that it wouldn't be long before they stumbled over something.

Curiosity killed the cat.

She had underestimated his concern for her. Andrew had no intentions of making anything public or even of ever speaking of the matter again. It wasn't his goal. He was a Romafeller. He who died with the most secrets, won.

Andrew Varnham. Grandson of the late Admiral Varnham. Deceased because the Admiral had been on the plane with Field Marshal Noventa when OZ duped the Gundam pilots into considering that plane a target.

Perhaps Dorothy should have at least given Andrew the peace of mind to tell him that Quatre hadn't been the one that killed his grandfather. She doubted he had found enough information to confirm which one had actually taken that target.

More than likely, it didn't matter after this long. Andrew knew as well as she did that it was actually Treize's ploy that killed the leading Alliance members. She made no excuses for her cousin's tactics, and Andrew had never demanded that she try.

Although it hurt, Andrew knew better.

That was his way. That was Dorothy's way. That was… what he had just tried to talk her out of.

_Is this what Leilalie has taught you? That it's alright to take a comforter? I wish I could believe that. I really do, Andrew._

* * *

The house had quieted after Heero and Miss Relena's group left. Duo and Hilde were staying for the night and leaving in the morning. He and the Maguanacs were also returning then too, although as things stood now, Quatre wasn't sure he'd be able to just leave Dorothy here by herself. 

She'd disappeared somewhere about an hour ago after the others left. He hadn't gone searching for her too hard though. Quatre was assuming that she needed a little space right now and he'd allow her just a little more time to pull herself back together before he found her again.

She didn't deserve this. Whatever it was that she was feeling now, she didn't deserve it.

But he also couldn't bring himself to just be mad at Andrew either. _"My goal is to see her looked after, Quatre."_

On some level, the man really had loved her. He supposed he should grudgingly admit that after all this time. The man was blunt, and smug, and… a few other not so polite things. He didn't have to go so far just to prove a point.

_"He knows. …I'm sorry."_

It was actually the only words Dorothy had said when she told him. It hadn't taken much to figure out who and what she meant.

But she hadn't looked worried, or even angry really. She just seemed… resigned. Like she'd lost a match and was disappointed in herself.

Well, between those two, Quatre wasn't surprised.

He found himself in the music room again before he realized where his feet were leading him. The room had been put back into order once more, the extra tables and chairs removed and packed away. It seemed emptier now.

With a light caress Quatre stroked a hand along the side of the grand piano, the carved flowers getting a little smile out of him no matter his mental musings.

"Do we have to dust the furniture too?" Quatre turned back as Duo strode into the room his hands laced behind his head.

With a chuckle he shook his head at his friend. "I don't think so."

"Dust is a figment of bored people's imagination anyway," he waved it off. Stopping, Duo stared at the painting on the opposite wall for a second. "Have you seen this thing? Tell me that doesn't kind'a look like Brows."

Smiling at the blunt observation, Quatre shook his head and decided Duo was the perfect distraction right now. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence," he teased figuring Duo hadn't checked the nameplate to see that it was Davonte's handwork.

"Yeah, well, caught her best side," he mumbled and moved on to walk towards him.

With a sigh, Quatre gave up. "I wish you two would be nicer to each other."

"Oh, we're just joking 'round," Duo waved it off. "What else am I going to do? This whole trip's been a snore."

He didn't figure he could agree to that. Quatre took a glance towards the doorways to the hall, but then realized that there was no one in the house that it would really matter if they overheard this or not. "Duo, there's something I think you need to know."

"Oh ho!" The other stopped his random pacing and turning to look at him. "'Bout time."

He blinked at his friend strangely a second before he figured out that Duo was still stuck thinking about Dorothy… and him. "Not that."

"Oh," he deflated, dropping his arms. "Yeah, OK, what then?" he asked, obviously back to being bored.

He rolled his eyes and then stepped over to the closed cabinet and slowly opened the doors a little. "We've had a leak." Quatre heard Duo's random pacing stop suddenly behind him. "Andrew knows. I'm not sure if that means Byron does too, or not. He found me specifically, but I don't think it would take much after this for him to have profiled you too."

There was an unpleasant curse from the other man. "Heero know?"

Quatre nodded to himself. "Yes. I told him when they left."

"So… where do we stand?"

He moved the cabinet doors all the way open like they should be before turning around again, not wanting to look at the frames really. "All indications are that it's fine. He's looking after Dorothy more than he was actually interested in any of us," Quatre answered truthfully. "Just the same, I figured you should know."

"Yeah," Duo mumbled. Planting his hands on his hips, Duo stepped up to his side, looking over the collection of photos. "Can we count on Cat to watch him?"

Quatre closed his eyes for a moment. Duo and the others could count on more than just Dorothy watching him. "Yes." He would personally make sure of that.

Duo hummed an acknowledgement and Quatre moved to sit down on the piano bench. "I'm sorry. It's really my fault."

"Ah, no sweat. You make a Romafeller jealous, it's bound to happen," he waved it off. "You're gonna give yourself an ulcer taking the blame for everything, you know that?"

"Make a Romafeller jealous?" he questioned, looked up at Duo. How did he know that?

"Yeah," Duo turned to flash him a smile. "Hilde found out all about your little love triangle." Picking a frame off the shelves he held a picture of Dorothy and Andrew in front of his face, "Tune in next time on 'Taming Wicked Brows,'" he mimicked before lowering the frame again. "Come on, what kind of competition is _this_?"

Quatre rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh at his friend's vote of confidence. "I think you're missing a few pieces of the story."

"Doesn't matter," Duo waved it off and moved to return the picture to its place. "Especially if he's figured it out when Cat didn't want him to. She's going to be pissed. Good time to make your move, bud."

Quatre gave his braid a thankful smile even if the man wasn't paying attention. Duo. He never let anything get him down. How did he do it?

"Oh!" Duo happily chuckled. "I was beginning to think this was all past history." Snatching a frame off the bottom shelf, he twirled around, his grin completely undaunted. "What do we have here?"

Quatre couldn't manage to be annoyed with him but sighed and shook his head anyway. "What?" he asked, very unenthused to see another shot of Dorothy and the others.

"So, when were you posing for pictures?" Duo teased. "Couldn't you have come up with something sexier for her?"

He blinked up at him confused. "Excuse me?"

Duo looked back and forth between him and the frame a couple times and then shrugged and turned it around to show him. "Not bad, I guess."

And Quatre stopped and stared at it a second. "Where did you get that?"

"Huh? Uh, the shelf," he pointed back the obvious spot.

Quatre rose to his feet again and walked over and took the frame from him, Duo giving him a weird look. A thick, silver frame held a snapshot of himself. Where did Dorothy get this? He didn't remember her ever taking a picture. He suddenly recognized the corner of Winner Manor rising in the background behind him, and then he noticed that his collar was open….

"_Ah, the clingy reporters. I expected those."_

"_You expected…. Dorothy!" he yelled at her. "You didn't warn me," he accused._

"_Of course I did. Remember your promise," she happily added, just as he was reflexively ready to re-button his collar._

The group of reporters that had mobbed him when he got home from the resource station. She'd asked him to take off his tie and unbutton his collar. And apparently she had found some of the footage…. "Of all the—"

"Uh, Q?"

"—sneaky, manipulative women. How did she—?"

A shadow slipped over his arm and Quatre about dropped the frame. Turning over his shoulder he realized it was only Hilde and silently breathed a sigh of relief, but he wasn't sure why.

"Wow, nice," Hilde giggled, leaning into his side to look at the picture. "You should unbutton your collar more."

"Not another one," he muttered as she stole the photo out of his hands.

"Another what?" Duo snickered at him.

"As long as you don't actually try to unbutton it _yourself_," he mumbled. Both turned to give him odd looks and Quatre shrugged. "I got Dorothy and Catherine in the same room together once," he half-heartedly explained. "It wasn't pleasant."

"Oh," they both nodded in understanding.

"Let me guess. You're girl's got a thing for the suspenders too," Duo grumbled, throwing Hilde a bitter look.

"I told you, if you ever want a comparison all you have to do is ask," she winked at her boyfriend and then focused on the picture frame again.

Duo snorted at her, Quatre moved back to sit down on the piano bench. "Well, that was uncanny."

The two laughed at him and then went back to browsing the photo collection. Quatre sat, and casually watched as Hilde added the frame back to the bottom shelf on the right side of the cabinet where its opening was.

Dorothy had conned him into appearing in front of the reporters with his collar undone, and had then found and printed an image of it for her little collection. It would have been a whole lot less work if she'd just asked for a picture but… well, that wasn't her style.

Blinking he tried to keep the sudden smirk and blush down. One of these days he'd learn not to underestimate her.

"Whoa! When was Dorothy a cheerleader?" Duo half-cried, sufficiently ending Quatre's little illusions.

"What?" Picking up the frame that had Andrew and Dorothy and Byron pictured in their uniforms, Duo waved it back at him. And with a shrug Quatre shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that was her typical uniform."

"Bet she shaved her legs everyday," Hilde mumbled at it.

"What school did she go to?" Duo gaped.

"St. George Military Academy," he chuckled.

"Oh," the pair both nodded.

"St. George?" Duo mumbled again looking at the frame. "So… Dorothy's actually a bad little Catholic school girl?"

Hilde burst out laughing for all she was worth.

Quatre about fell off the bench. "What?"

With a look of pure abandon, Duo stared at him a minute. "Why is it always the quiet ones?"

"Duo!" he yelled at him.

"All this time I just thought you had a thing for blonds," Duo shook his head and paced over to lean against the piano beside him.

"Why does everyone think that?" Quatre complained.

"But you don't," Duo grinned, leaning over to sufficiently stare him down. "You've got a bad girl fetish," he poked the frame into his chest a couple times.

"I what?" Quatre squeaked, trying to lean away from his—obviously very amused—friend.

"Face it, Q. You're a rebel. You always have been. You just have a thing for what you're not supposed to have," Duo stated, standing back to full height and shrugging.

"A rebel?" he blinked.

Dancing the picture frame back and forth in front of his face, Duo chuckled, "And trust me, Cat's as bad as they come."

* * *

"Marquis Wayridge. Good evening." 

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Winner," he returned, his arms filled with a box of items that his bustling wife kept adding to.

"Marchioness," he nodded as she slipped between them again, rounding up this or that.

"Hello, dear," she smiled and even gave Quatre a pat on the cheek that he tried not to laugh at.

Dorothy had appeared again, followed by these two, and began helping to gather up a number of borrowed items and various other things that were left in the half-restored ballroom. The two women seemed to have some type of organization going on, although Quatre certainly couldn't figure it out, and so he simply opted to stay out of it.

"I see you survived the night," the Marquis went on to make pleasant chitchat as the ladies move around the room, friendly as always.

"I did," he nodded, and then turned to look up at the taller man over the box of silver serving-ware. "Marquis…" he began, softening his voice so his wife would not overhear.

But with a single shake of his head Wayridge stopped him. "I've already been made aware of it," he cut him off.

Dorothy. So that's where she'd disappeared to. "I see," he nodded, glancing back in her direction.

"I should apologize," the Marquis went on. "There's no actual proof, of course. But sometimes memories here can be… picked."

Quatre understood that. There was no proof left here for Andrew to find. But he didn't need any, probably didn't even want any. All he needed was someone who had been around during the war enough to know for sure. And considering Andrew's background, memories were easily accessible.

"Then there's one other thing," Quatre began slowly, his eyes never leaving Dorothy as she moved along with Marchioness Elena, even giggling over a few things. "I accept."

There was a surprised note from the elder man. "So soon? I'm surprised."

Quatre closed his eyes a moment and then looked up at him again with a small smile. "You were right. I still have things I need to protect. And if this is where I can do that, then I accept."

He nodded and returned the smile. "I understand." Turning, Wayridge looked back at the women who were dividing the duty of carrying a serving tray full of items back in their direction. "Don't worry too much about this recent episode."

Shaking his head, Quatre agreed. "I'm not. But it was a good reminder." Their secrets were only as safe as the people who kept them. Watching those that knew them was never a bad idea.

"Vigilance. It is our jobs as witnesses," the Marquis nodded.

* * *

The footsteps couldn't belong to anyone else. The step was regular, the click-clack of hard-soled shoes perfect as though the woman had practiced creating the sound. And knowing this Lady, he supposed she might have. 

Turning from the opened doorway, Quatre watched Dorothy slip up to his side. She had escorted the Marquis and his wife out and seen them on their way again. "It's a nice day out," she commented. "May as well enjoy what's left of it."

Without waiting to see if he'd agree or follow, she moved past him and out onto the wide terrace, sauntering up to the railing that blocked it from the gardens beyond. For a moment Quatre only watched her—studied her—but then also slipped quietly out into the low sunlight of the early evening. He came up behind her, stopping when the irregular gusts of wind tossed her hair into him.

"I'm sorry, Quatre," she quietly apologized again. "I promise there's nothing to worry about."

"I know." She blamed herself. Quatre knew that she would. Even if it would have been impossible for her to do anything to prevent it, Dorothy still had to admit that she failed at this self-appointed task.

He also knew there wasn't anything he could say that would help.

Stepping up to her side, they both looked out over the gardens, the breeze creating little waves in the water pool that ran the length of the area down to the new fountain at the end. A yellow water lily caught his attention as it bobbed a little against its leaves in the shallow trench.

"Dorothy…" he paused to try to find a different way to put this, but decided against trying to ease into the conversation. "I've had a couple conversation with Marquis Wayridge." He noticed her turn to look over at him, but he still continued to watch the gently floating flower. "I've been accepted into Oracle," he abbreviated, turning finally to see her eyes.

She didn't even try to hide her startled expression. For an instant he thought he saw fear reflected in the pale violet before she snapped her focus away again. Fear?

She'd had two men today tell her they knew what secrets she was keeping.

Quatre about slapped himself. He should have thought of that earlier. "He only gave away that you were involved to try to influence my decision," he tried to reassure her somehow with that. "And… I need you to know." He wanted her to be able to trust him with anything and everything. Oracle included.

It was slow in coming, but she finally shook her head at herself and sighed heavily. "I can't keep you out of harm's way all at, can I?" she bitterly asked.

Quatre blinked at her, not expecting that. But when she turned to give him a sour look out of the corner of her eye, he openly chuckled at it, relieved. "I wouldn't know what to do otherwise," he reminded her.

Dorothy only sighed again and turned to face him.

"What I do know, is that I'm better off on your side," Quatre confessed to her.

"And I'm… better off letting you," she quietly returned, although she didn't appear to want to say it. Stepping in, he wrapped his arms around her waist and waited for her to return the hug. "It's just hard for me to believe it. You have to make everything so difficult," she teasingly grumbled.

With a smile, he held her tightly to him. "We're just better off together. That's not difficult."

Dorothy snuggled into him, one of her hands running over the hair at the nape of his neck.

* * *

This had been an experience. 

Once Duo and Hilde found that photo in the cabinet there was apparently no hope that the entire house wasn't going to find out about it. Dorothy had been physically corralled by Duo with Hilde running interference for him. Quatre hadn't been able to save her before she was accused with the photo in question.

But, never to be outdone, the Lady Catalonia had cackled—rather evilly—at them and stole the frame back. _"Well, I'm just a shameless fangirl,"_ she'd teased and happily took the frame back to the music room, laughing all the way.

Quatre wouldn't be living that down for a year.

Not to mention that the entire collected corp. was out for blood now that the boutonnières were off. However, the guys did end up finding it cute when Dorothy produced a nice picture of their group shot she'd taken, and also added that to her photo collection.

Always the crowd pleaser. And Quatre couldn't have been more thankful for it.

He'd turned in for the night, but was just waiting, idly looking through his work schedule for the coming week. He figured he was actually going to enjoy returning to work alone. Anything to get away from the disaster this turned out to be.

As expected though, there was a soft knock on his door about an hour later, and he smiled to himself as he went to answer it. Instead of coming in though, he found Dorothy waiting for him and she simply motioned him to follow her.

Turning his light out, he quietly closed the door to his room and slipped along after her. They finally ended up on the dark ground floor and he simply kept quiet as she led them back to the West wing's observation lounge, the glass porch giving them an un-obscured view of the gardens.

"What do you want to know?" Dorothy finally opened, taking a seat at one of the tables scattered along the length of the area.

"What should I know?" he asked instead, sure he knew what this midnight conversation was going to be about. He tucked his hands into his pockets and didn't bother to sit down. Instead he paced over and leaned his shoulder onto the glass of the wall, looking out at the night.

"There isn't much of a rulebook," she answered. "Oracle is based on the people involved. No one aside from Lady Une herself knows every member, but our numbers are few. Information gets passed between those that do know each other. People like the Marquis are the top of the ladder and will call on people as needed."

"So, we don't really have monthly meetings?" he tried to joke.

"No," she chuckled. "You always have the option of refusing to do something asked of you, of course, but I don't think it's ever really been an issue."

Turning, Quatre faced her, her silhouette calmly seated in front of him in the dim lighting. "And what sort of things will be asked of me?"

"Of you? I don't know," she shook her head. "I can't say I don't agree that your position and networking would be valuable to the group but… I'm still very surprised by this," she admitted. "I won't say I like it either," Dorothy whispered.

That surprised him. Walking back, he stood over her, blocking her from the dim moonlight with his shadow. "Why?"

For a moment she didn't say anything, she just looked up at him. Slowly she sighed and shook her head. "This isn't you, Quatre. You're not the type to find any of these dealings necessary. I've known all along that you don't approve of Oracle and think things should just be left to fate. I have a few good guesses as to why the Marquis seemed so very interested in you joining us, but I don't think I understand why you agreed."

Turning back to look outside again, Quatre thought it through again himself. "A lot of reasons. First of all, I was reminded that this isn't the first time I joined a group created by a few extreme idealists. And when it concerns looking after my friends and family, you know that I'd do anything to ensure their safety. It makes sense that this is where I belong, now that I have the option."

"And that decision had nothing to do with realizing just how easy it is for your secrets to be found out?" she only half-curiously questioned.

Glancing back at her, he nodded. "That had a lot to do with it," he admitted.

"Hmm," she nodded. "And secondly?"

"Secondly… the best place to watch an organization is from inside it."

Dorothy chuckled at him for the confession. "Yes, I'll agree to that," she whispered.

With a sigh, Quatre turned back to her and extended his hand to offer it to her. Dorothy took it, and he pulled her from the chair and wrapped her into a hug. "I decided a long time ago that I would never doubt you," he quietly admitted to her ear. "That belief hasn't changed."

"Quatre, you have no need to doubt me. But that doesn't mean you have to follow my path," she returned. "We have never fought the same way. I don't intend to drag you down to my tactics."

He smiled to himself at the idea. No, they had very different styles of combat, but this wasn't a war. "This is only vigilance," he reminded her.

She sighed at him and then turned her face to nuzzle under his ear, getting him to squirm. "What am I going to do with you?"

Pulling away from her to get her to quit, he met her eyes in the dim light. "Anything you want."

And to his surprise, Dorothy shrugged. Leaning in, she pecked a little kiss on his lips and then bumped his nose with her own. "Then welcome to Oracle, Quatre Raberba Winner."

* * *

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand." - Henri Nouwen 

AN: Spiked Jin, I know how much you just love my allusions to tiny little details that originated many, many chapters back, so I put in lots of them this time. Just in case any of you are playing along at home. ;)


	51. Chapter 51

Revelations  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 51 

Dorothy made her way through the halls and into the kitchen by herself, waving off the helpful butler that was trailing along, absolutely beside himself that she wouldn't let him take the box from her. She was perfectly capable of returning a collection of newspaper wrapped teacups without assistance.

Yes, Lady Dorothy Catalonia had become too used to doing things herself these days. And when the chateau's usual staff returned to the work of finishing the clean up from the fundraiser, she had promptly decided it was time to go home again. She was sick of the fuss everyone made around her these days. She always had been, it just closed in on her more now than usual.

"Do please tell Marquioness Wayridge that I appreciate her loaning these to me," she stated again, hoping the doting man would get the hint that she knew where she was going.

"I certainly will, Lady Catalonia," he replied, still trailing right along as though worried she'd drop the box.

Telling herself it wasn't worth being annoyed over, she pushed her way into the pantry beside the kitchen and placed them back on the shelf that she had seen the Marquioness take them from. There now, all tucked in.

"Are you certain you don't wish me to call Marquioness Elena for you?"

"I'll be on my way now. No reason to interrupt her," Dorothy shook it off and stepped around the man and out of the pantry cove again. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Oh, let me get the door for you, Ma'am," he hurried along after her again, trying to keep up with her pace.

Dorothy was willing to bet that this man got a healthy Christmas bonus each year.

However, her little mental humor drained away as the clicking of her sandals was drowned out by the soft strains of a piano melody.

She slowed her pace, letting the overbearing butler catching up to her as they slipped towards the front rooms of the house. Dorothy backed down the sigh she felt like heaving and turned pleasantly over her shoulder to the man. "Is Miss Leilalie still visiting?" she inquired.

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded with a smile.

Always a smile.

Oh fine. "I don't wish to interrupt her, but I didn't get to say hello at the event."

"Oh, if you please, wait here just a moment," the man hastened to aid her with a little bow and then off he went towards the open entryway to the music room.

Dorothy stopped in the front foyer and adjusted her headband that was threatening to give her a headache. Another piano player. Well, of course she was.

That was no reason to be antisocial though, she supposed.

The melody drifted to a stop and then the butler popped back out of the room towards her. "Lady Catalonia," he motioned towards the room.

Dorothy stepped over to the room and walked in, the plush red carpet cushy feeling after the hard, formal tile. Leilalie was standing at the side of the grand piano waiting for her, her attire far more typical than the overly ridged formality from last Saturday. Her black hair was down, as long, if not a little longer, than Dorothy's own, only a barrette holding her sides back. A flowered skirt fell just below her knees, and was matched with a short-sleeve sweater. Nothing ever out of place.

Dorothy could have laughed at how well they matched.

"Lady Dorothy," Leilalie greeted, her smile openly genuine, "it's been a very long time."

"Yes, it has," she nodded. "Please don't call me Lady. We've known each other far too long for that," she responded stepping up to take the woman's offer hands and squeezed them in a friendly greeting.

"Well thank you," she nodded. "I didn't get to tell you how impressed I was with the fundraiser the other night. I heard how much remolding you did to the chateau and I'm sure it was a lot of work to get it set up for an event like that."

"I have your grandmother to thank for most of how that turned out," she readily admitted. "Thank you though, I'm glad you got to attend."

With a smile Leilalie released her hands again. "So am I. Senator Bridgeport was kind enough to ask me."

_Senator_ Bridgeport. That still just didn't seem right to her. She certainly didn't vote for the man. And there was nothing "kind" about the scrooge. "I was glad to see him there as well," she lied.

"I got the chance to meet your escort," Leilalie conversationally went on. "Mr. Winner. He seemed very nice," she smiled.

The devil on her shoulder was just sharpening his pitchfork, but she added a smile nonetheless. "Quatre certainly is," she nodded. "I was privileged that he agreed to accompany me."

"Grandfather was very happy to see him there too," she returned.

That was an odd thing for someone like Leilalie to pick up on. "Really? I know they've gotten to be quite friendly," she fished.

"I believe so," she agreed. "Grandfather is awfully transparent with those he likes," she chuckled at the covert little observation.

Well, what do you know? Little Leilalie was starting to get some intuition. Dorothy would have to say she was impressed. "Well, I'm happy to know the Marquis approves," she chuckled it off.

"Approves?" the other blinked at her before giggling a little. "Dorothy, is Mr. Winner something more than a single escort?" she girlishly teased.

And her little opinion about the woman's intuitive side faltered. "Quatre is a wonderful friend. I'm happy to be associated with him so regularly, but we're not involved," she answered.

"Oh," Leilalie abashedly backed down. "I got the impression that he was very fond of you. I'm sorry, that wasn't my place," she politely apologized.

"It's alright," Dorothy readily waved it off. "But I've heard an interesting rumor too," she moved on, allowing her smirk to rise now that Leilalie had opened the suit for play.

Leilalie blinked a moment but then a shy smile rose and she turned away a little to look back down at the piano keys. "I suppose I'm not surprised he told you," she quietly answered.

_Actually, he didn't say anything at all_, Dorothy mused, but figured she shouldn't ruin the woman's illusions. "I have to tease you. I've known Andrew too long not too," she chuckled.

With an acknowledgement, the woman nodded to herself, not meeting her eyes. Dorothy started as a hint of a blush crept into the other's cheeks at the mention. "It's alright. I've started to get used to it," she reasoned.

But Dorothy stared at her as the girl focused on the piano keys, a shy—almost embarrassed—smile tugging at her lips, just the telltale hint of blush on her cheeks.

It was the same reaction Quatre would probably have if she forced him to admit to liking someone. The resemblance was actually uncanny to her for some reason.

"The two of you were always so close," Leilalie very quietly continued. "I always wondered if… that's not my business," she chided herself and stopped the train of thought.

Shaking off the mental picture, Dorothy realized that her thoughts before had been right. Andrew had found something in this sweet little girl that had replaced his feelings for her. And he had come back one last time to try to give her the advice to look for the same thing in someone.

"We went through a lot together," Dorothy admitted, her evil side falling away. "Andrew and Byron are both very dear to me. It's a shame I don't see them very often now." Leilalie turned to meet her eyes again, perhaps a little relieved looking. "Please look after him for me," she winked with a chuckle.

The other happily returned it with a nod. "I'll try to when I see them."

"Please do," she nodded again and turned away towards the door. "I should be going though. Hopefully it won't be so long before we see each other again, Leilalie."

"Yes, I hope so too," she nodded and let her go. "And please say hello to Mr. Winner for me, if you see him soon," she added as Dorothy stepped out of the room towards the front doors.

"I'll do that," she replied back to her and quickly let herself out.

Walking down the front steps, she let the breeze blow her hair around her without paying attention to it as she got into her car again. Closing the door, she caught a handful of the strands in it and had to open it again and pull the locks inside to try it again.

For a moment, she just sat there, letting the heat from interior of the car bake into her. The passenger seat was empty, all of her errands for the day were finished. All she really needed to do was collect her personal items and figure out how she was getting home.

Starting the car, she drove off, her mind fuzzy and a feeling caught in her throat that she couldn't explain.

Home. She still really didn't have a home. She had a cat. A fuzzy little substitute for someone that would care if she never went back.

She hated it when thoughts like this attacked her. They weren't true anyway. She had a collection of friends now that…. They weren't "home" either. They were friends. They were distractions.

Well, what's one more distraction then?

Stopping at an intersection she dug her phone out of her pocket and checked the time differences for their last known location before finding the number. Dorothy Catalonia had stressed herself out, run herself around in circles, and had had her entire collective emotions picked apart, analyzed, and then sufficiently trampled on. Everyone else had taken a shot at her lately, she may as well give the opportunity to the one remaining friend that she hadn't seen in months.

"Hello!" an overly cheery voice answered. "Dotty, what's up? How'd the thingy go? Let me guess, Mr. Commando went and wrecked the place. Did you tell that Relena to stop hanging around with him for me like I told you to?"

And Dorothy just laughed.

--

Trowa Barton was balanced on a support cable about fifty feet in the air, methodically tying down the tent flaps as the others heaved the big top's central point up. Noticing something, he paused and turned to look over his shoulder out the opening in the still untied sides of the canvas.

For a second there was nothing suspicious that caught his eye, but something had quieted the crowd of people that were bustling around with the setup preparations. From the other side of the grounds a few shouted greetings met his ears, and then everything seemed to continue on as normal.

And it didn't take long for it to come into focus. A second or two later, she came into view around the corner of a storage unit, directly into his line of sight.

No one would think that her casual jeans and shirt was uncharacteristic for this woman. She carried nothing with her, no bags or purse, her hair the only thing that trailed along behind her. She was obviously in no hurry, walking slowly along and watching the progress of the setup around her.

A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes from him, but not the uniquely identifying eyebrows. They gave her away as much as her walk did. The slow, even gate gave her a sensual sway. The straight shoulders and raised chin pronounced her confidence ahead of her.

It was the walk of a woman who knew she was being watched. And obviously didn't mind.

Trowa went back to his task, a hint of a smirk to his half-hidden expression. Dorothy Catalonia may have softened around the edges over the years, but she hadn't really changed. It had taken him some time to decide if that was beneficial or not.

He had also become well aware that it didn't matter what he thought.

--

"What do you think of this?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes at fourteenth shirt. "Catherine, you only have two day's leave. You've got enough."

"Hey, do you know how long it's been since I've gotten a vacation?" the other snipped from somewhere in the cubbyhole the woman called a closet.

"I thought you'd be packed already," she sighed, helpfully adding things to the duffle bag her nomadic circus friend was using for luggage.

"I tired. I tried," she complained. "Jumping clusters is a pain in the butt."

Dorothy supposed getting this much gear and housing arrangements from one colony to another was bad enough, but going through regulation changes and who knew what else when they switched colony clusters was probably a nightmare.

"Do I need a swimming suit?"

Pausing, Dorothy thought about that and then shrugged to herself. "Might as well bring one."

"Yea!" the other squealed. Walking back to the bed and the duffle, Catherine dropped an armload of bathing suits and under things onto the already bulging bag and then went to work pounding them into every last square inch available. Mercilessly tugging at the zipper, Catherine only had to bounce up to sit on the bag once to get it to pull closed. Hefting the strap over her shoulder, the woman turned to face her, brushing the auburn curls away from her face again. "So, where we going?"

Dorothy shook her head, biting down her laugh and then shrugged. Pulling the sunglasses off the top of her head, she turned and headed for the door. "I don't know."

"What do ya mean you don't know?" she cried after her as they left her side of the trailer.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked instead.

"I thought you were planning this trip," Catherine accused her.

"I said I'd come pick you up. I didn't say I had a plan," Dorothy corrected.

"Oh well. We'll wing it," the other shrugged it off. "Just a sec."

Dorothy turned around in time to see Catherine drop her bag and go sprinted off to the side of a nearby tent opening. Dorothy didn't have to be anywhere near it to hear the older girl scream Trowa's name as soon as she was in.

"What have I gotten myself into," she muttered to herself. Putting her sunglasses back on, she tried to keep from laughing again at this woman she'd gotten quite accustomed to over the months. Their one meeting had been enough to start them talking regularly, which Dorothy would admit was a first in her life really. She wasn't very good a friendly correspondence, but apparently Miss Catherine Bloom was.

The woman in question came running back out again, Trowa appearing in the doorway to watch her head off. Such a dear, Dorothy mused. Giving him a little wave in greeting, Trowa indulged her a nod of acknowledgement.

And that was as far as she got. Dorothy had intended to tell him that she'd take good care of his dear "sister" for him. But in one move, Catherine had grabbed the strap of her bag in one hand, grabbed Dorothy's wrist in the other and hauled both of them away without ever breaking her stride.

Dorothy stumbled into a quick jog as her friend laughed and dragged her along towards her rental car at the edge of the grounds. "Come on, Dorothy. Hurry up!"

She may be thankful this was only going to be a couple days.

--

Trowa watched the two girls hurry off, amused with them. Making sure they got to the car waiting on the street, he then made his way to their trailer and into his room. Punching in a number manually, he waited for the phone to ring.

"Hello."

"It's Trowa," he responded, knowing his number wouldn't show up on Quatre's phone.

"Let me guess, the girls just left," the phone chuckled at him.

"Yes," Trowa acknowledged, figuring this wouldn't be a surprise to him.

"Yeah, I know. And I told Dorothy that I'd probably be a little more forgiving than you if they have to call someone to bail them out."

He silently agreed with that.

Quatre just laughed at him. "They'll be fine," he soothed. "…And no, I don't know where they're going either."

--

"Where are we?" Catherine asked, swinging around in a circle in the disembarking side of the spaceport.

"L…" Dorothy looked up too to find the welcoming sign over their gate, "1. Colony 184526. Birthplace of Sunda Mua-wi-kee-now—something," she mumbled and gave up on pronouncing the name on the flag underneath the greetings.

"Oh yeah, that told me a lot," Catherine muttered at her.

"Well if you wouldn't have slowed us down we could have had a direct flight to the Caribbean Islands," she grumbled at her again.

"That was a ten hour flight," the other whined. "I am not spending my whole trip on a shuttle."

"Well fine," Dorothy waved it off. "Are we staying here or going on?"

"I don't know," Catherine shrugged, stopping beside her as they scooted off to the side of the area to let everyone else pass by. "Let's find the guy with the maps and ask what's here."

"Guy with the maps?" Dorothy repeated. "You mean the tourist center?"

"No," Catherine crinkled her nose. "Those people never know anything either. No, no. The guy that's out in front of every spaceport and city bus station with the bag of tour maps. You know," she gestured.

Dorothy started, staring at her like she'd lost her mind. "You mean one of those vagrants that want to try to sell you the free colony maps?"

"Yeah! Those guys know everything," she happily gushed. "Come on." Stealing her hand again, Dorothy almost lost her garment bag and purse off her shoulder as Catherine jolted her off at a quick pace for the exit.

"You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled as she was once again led along.

"Oh, don't be such a snot. They're nice," Catherine threw back at her with a giggle. "Well, OK, most of them are nice. But they'll tell you anything."

Dorothy just stumbled after her, wondering how quiet, enigmatic, always-serious Trowa could live with this woman.

After being dragged through the whole disembarking station and spilled out onto the sidewalks with three hundred other people, Catherine promptly tossed her—thirty pound—duffle bag at Dorothy and told her to stay there. Pulling out a collection of pocket change and a few credits, her traveling companion honestly went out looking for someone to give them directions.

Dorothy about hit the woman over the head with her own luggage for it but Catherine was shifting expertly through the crowd already. "Catherine!" she called after her, lugging their bags and trying to excuse her way through everyone. She was not letting this woman out of her sight. If anyone was going to club her over the head and drag her away it was going to be Dorothy!

She couldn't catch her before Catherine had indeed found some very scruffy, man seated on a bench out front with a little box in front of him, quietly asking for anything someone could spare. Dorothy stopped beside a flower planter a little ways away and warily eyed the man and the surroundings in case someone tried to gang up on her friend. But completely unconcerned, Catherine walked up, tossed her money into the box and spent a couple minutes chatting with the man.

Dorothy had to say she was relieved when Catherine nodded and happily rounded back towards her, the man still randomly mumbling a few things after she'd gone and then called out a blessing to her.

All at once Dorothy really felt like a heathen for her reaction. She had no problem with works of charity and had a number that she supported, but she'd been conditioned to believe it wasn't safe to approach someone on the street like that. Of course, they were in a crowd of a couple hundred people in broad daylight, what had she really expected to happen?

Greeting her again, Catherine took her bag back and pointed a finger down the street where they could see the colony rise up beyond the buildings. "We have our heading," she announced with a giggle.

--

"Shop-Topia" was apparently this colony's claim to cluster-wide fame. The main city was basically broken into two sections, one for the residents that ran the stores, and the middle for everyone that came to buy from them. The whole place was decked out in so many banners and signs and scrolling announcements that Catherine's eyes were starting to hurt.

The two had made it into the outskirts of this mammoth city of a shopping mall on foot and were now about dying for a place to call home just to get off their feet for a while. Tipping a guy with Shop-Topia brochures, she handed the thing to Dorothy and then sat down on her bag on the sidewalk.

"Where do you want to stay?" the blond asked.

"Something across the street would be nice," she muttered back. "I don't care."

"Ah!" Dorothy cried, pointing at something on the paper. "Home sweet home." Catherine looked up at her as Dorothy sort of mentally mapped out how to get there. "This way," she announced, starting off down the sloping side street.

The two made their way along, only getting lost once after finding an impromptu street dance going on, and finally found a skyscraper hotel surrounded by their own private park area. Catherine blinked at the place a second and then quietly followed right behind Dorothy as they stepped up to the lobby entrance. Spotting a large sign on a pedestal outside the door, she tugged on Dorothy's hair to make her stop. "We can't go in there," she whispered.

"What? Why not?"

Catherine pointed over the girl's shoulder to the sign on display. "They don't serve anyone one without a tie. We're in jeans," she reasoned.

Dorothy did a very bad job of covering her laugh. "That's for the lounge. We'll eat later, we're just checking in."

"Oh," she mumbled. "But this…" she trailed out as she gave the marble lined lobby a glance through the windows.

"I told you this was my treat," Dorothy started off without her.

Catherine squeaked and quickly caught up with her friend's pace as the Lady let the two valets open the glass doors for them. The place was quiet, classical music drifting around them as their shoes made a slight echo. Catherine had an overwhelming urge to laugh out of pure nerves, but tried to keep it down.

Dorothy strode up to the giant mahogany desk and greeted the—obviously very well starched—woman behind it. "Hello. My friend and I would like a two roomed suite for the night," she announced, setting her garment bag down and digging in her purse.

Catherine peeked around Dorothy to watch the woman give them a once over as she pecked quickly at the computer in front of her. "Well, it seems I'm showing—"

She stopped cold when Dorothy pulled a card from her purse and slid it onto the counter towards her, never even looking up to acknowledge the hotel greeter. "Something with a very nice view too, if you could. And," Dorothy pulled the brochure back out in front of her, "if we use some of your amenities during our stay will you add that to my bill or will I have to finalize that on check-out?"

Finally Dorothy turned to look expectantly at the woman who was standing perfectly still in front of them. "With a personal bank card we can only process one transaction at a time, Ma'am," she responded.

"Well, that's a hassle," Dorothy muttered to herself, flipping the brochure over to the next page instead.

"Of course, if you allow us to keep your account open, we will charge each amenity as you use them and then your room bill at the time of check out," she hastily added.

"Oh, very well then," Dorothy nodded. "I'll accept that."

The woman was only too thrilled to swipe her card through and then introduce them to the man who would be carrying their bags. Following the bellhop to the elevators, Catherine trailed along in awed silence. She knew that Dorothy was filthy rich, but to be waving around a personal debit card like that was kind of a shock.

Not to mention that Dorothy didn't even bother to ask how much a two-bed suite "with a view" was going to cost her in a ritzy place like this!

As the mirrored doors closed them into the elevator, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as the young man with their bags pressed in the button for the very top floor. Dorothy hummed to herself and opened the brochure once more. "What's good for restaurants around here?" she asked.

"Our lounge offers an extensive menu, Ma'am, along with quality entertainment each night," he recited back to her.

Dorothy turned and blinked at him a second until the guy swallowed. "I realize they pay you to say that, but I'm on vacation and really don't want something that formal. What do _you_ actually like?" she asked again, smirking at him.

Catherine about giggled at the display. Oh, she was good.

"Well, what are you hungry for?" he asked, obviously a little displaced.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Catherine, what are you hungry for?"

She hummed to herself and leaned over her shoulder to look at the brochure too. "Um… Chinese," she suggested.

"I could go for that," Dorothy nodded and they both turned to look at the guy beside them.

Flashing them a cute smile he nodded. "Then, yeah, you have to try the Five Claw," he conversationally answered. Leaning towards them, he pointed to a section on their little map. "I don't want to offend you, it's kind of a hole in the wall place, but it's the best Chinese in the city."

"Perfect," Dorothy purred, almost directly into the guy's ear.

With a chuckle, he backed away again and moving a hand to rub at the side of his neck. He chatted with them easily as they left the elevator and he showed them to the last doorway in the hall, letting them in and dropped their luggage off. Dorothy sweetly asked his name and then thanked him for the information and sent him off with a tip amount that Catherine didn't manage catch.

As soon as the door was closed behind him, the two girls giggled to themselves over it and Dorothy happily hummed along as she began wandering around the expansive common area, a bedroom on each end.

"What was all that for?" she asked as the Lady browsed their surroundings, picking up a catalog that was on the coffee table.

"To each their own," she shrugged back. "You like bums, I like bellhops," she teased.

"Dorothy!" she snipped.

With a giggle, the woman rounded to face towards her, still reading the booklet she'd found. "What do you say? Quick massage before dinner?"

"What?" she blinked.

"This place is a full service spa and retreat," Dorothy answered, tossing the book at her for her to catch. "I say we take full advantage of it after being on our feet all day."

Catherine flipped through the booklet listing of "services" on-site and the times available. "You don't do anything halfway do you?" she asked.

Dorothy wandered over to the kitchen/dinette area and sniffed at the bouquet of flowers on the dividing countertop. "If you're not going to make it interesting, why bother?"

Catherine shook her head in absolute abandon. "I like you," she chuckled.

--

Dorothy was half asleep on the table when her phone chirped at her from the pile of her clothes on the bench in front of her. The first couple rings she completely ignored it, but then stirred to at least acknowledge that it was ringing. The masseuse was working diligently at the knots in her calf muscles and Dorothy decided she wasn't about to interrupt her work.

With a hummed moan of pleasure, she settled back into relaxing. For another five minutes, the woman rubbed diligently at her feet and legs, moving up to her lower back before quietly informing her that her time was up and she would leave to allow her to get dressed again.

Dorothy probably would have asked her for a second session, but she knew very well that Catherine was in the next bay probably getting told the same thing. Oh well, it was time for food and she was back into shape for seeing what this place really had to offer. She didn't have any idea what time it was locally, but right now her stomach told her she was ready for dinner.

Getting off the table, she threw off the worthless towel that barely attempted to cover something and picked up her clothes and quickly dressed again. Finally pulling her phone from the pile she checked the ID and smiled at it as she finished up and stepped out of the booth and towards the waiting area to find Catherine.

Punching in her redial, she twirled her headband in her hand, not bothering to replace it yet. An assistant at the door smiled and handed her a bottle of water on her way out of the spa area as the phone rang a couple times in her ear.

"Hello."

"You almost got away with interrupting me," she teased.

"I would never want to ruin your fun," Quatre chuckled at her. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course I do," she answered spotting Catherine who was languidly stretching her arms with a yawn in the waiting area. She fell into step with her as she passed by. "Say hi to Quatre," she giggled, holding the phone towards the other's ear.

"Oh!" she cheered. "Hi, Quatre!" she called towards the phone. The speaker was just loud enough for them both to hear him laugh and call a hello back to her.

"So, what may I do for you?" she asked, replacing the phone to her ear.

"Well, I don't want to spoil the mood or anything, but if you're out you may need to take a look at today's issue of _Headliner Harold_."

Dorothy crinkled her nose at the mention. "Since when do you read the trash mags?"

"I don't, but I have a sister that stays on the lookout for me," Quatre sighed.

"Oh dear," she muttered. "What's wrong?"

"We did everything to search the fundraiser guests for weapons, but apparently we missed a couple cameras."

Oh, bloody hell. She was hoping to get around this type of fallout. "Fantastic," she grumbled. Steering a very confused Catherine towards the front desk again in the lobby she ran through the possible scenarios. "How bad?"

"Oddly enough… Heero and Miss Relena barely made the article," Quatre informed her. "I don't see anything to actually worry about, but… well, I figured you should probably be warned."

Strange, she frowned to herself. "Alright," she drawled. "I'll look into it when I can then if it's nothing pressing."

"No. Nothing to waste your vacation for," he happily informed her.

"Alright then. Thank you, dear," she shrugged it off as she stepped up to the greeter on duty. "I'll call later."

"Have fun," he humored her.

She hung up with a chuckle despite herself for some reason. Always so worried about everything. That man was the one that needed a vacation. Speaking to the woman behind the counter, she asked if they could get her a copy of the offending magazine and deliver it to their room.

With that finished, she ushered Catherine out the door and towards a waiting cab station.

--

Five Claw Chinese Restaurant was a wonderful little place about half a mile into this crazed shopping district. It wasn't nearly as "hole in the wall" as Dorothy was expecting, just very small really. But since it was almost three o'clock in the afternoon here, they got a table easily.

"So… Quatre miss you already?" Catherine teased as they waited for their meals.

"What?" she blinked out of her happy little musing about the décor.

With a completely inappropriate amount of eyebrow wiggling, she grinned back at her. "Come on. Tell me that Quatre just looked so good in a tux that you just wanted to eat him up," she merrily suggested.

And Dorothy burst out laughing, completely unable to hold it back.

"I didn't think it was that funny," the other muttered.

Finally calming herself, she shook her head and sipped at her water glass. "Well, at least you're being original," she waved it off.

Catherine gave her a funny look, "Original in what?"

Dorothy sighed and slumped back in the booth, starting at the symbols on the chopstick package in front of her. "Apparently everyone these days is under the impression that I need to snag myself a 'Winner.'"

Her friend openly giggled at the pun and nodded vigorously in Dorothy's peripheral vision. "What's wrong with that?"

Looking up at the happily smiling woman across from her, she felt a little guilty at spoiling the mood. "I don't want him."

Catherine's smile dropped completely as she stared at her. Dorothy self-consciously turned her eyes away, not figuring out why she felt so ashamed of saying that. "Well…" the other found her voice again. "That's probably OK." Turning back, she found that Catherine's smile had once again returned as the elder girl winked at her. "Quatre's just stubborn enough not to care what you want."

Dorothy sat and gave her an incredulous look, absolutely befuddled with her. Finally she broke a chuckle and shook her head, knowing exactly why she'd wanted this vacation.

"So spill. What's the deal? How can you not want the guy? Can I have him?" she randomly threw in.

Still laughing Dorothy leaned over the table and folding her hands together to set her chin on them. "Why, Miss Bloom, are you saying you're interested?" she teased.

She shrugged. "Cute, sweet, rich. Aside from the whole 'is he gay' question, why wouldn't any woman want him?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "I'm sorry I ever started that joke. And I wouldn't recommend teasing him. He's a little sensitive about it," she warned.

"Sensitive?" she questioned and then slapped both hands up over her mouth. "Oh my gosh! You didn't ask him, did you?" she cried, removing her hands only enough to speak.

Dorothy started, "What? No, I didn't _ask_ him. What do you take me for?"

Hiding her face in her hands Catherine just laughed at her. "I can just so see you doing that."

"I most certainly would not," she defended herself. Well, alright, maybe if she had actually been curious, and in the right place and setting….

Catherine waved her hands and then cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Quatre dear, but I need your signature here and here," she mimicked. "Oh, and by the way," she leaned towards her over the table, "are you gay?"

"I would not," she snipped again. "And that doesn't sound a thing like me," she refuted her.

Catherine went back to her hysterical giggles. Maybe she should take back her thought on why she needed this particular vacation.

After a few minutes of other bad attempts to mimic her—all of which Dorothy completely ignored—Catherine calmed again. "So… how did you bring up the topic?"

Finally recognizing the woman across from her again, Dorothy blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"You just said that Quatre was sensitive about it—which by the way, what isn't Quatre sensitive about? So you've actually talked about this, right? Come on, don't hold out of me," Catherine waved her to spit it out.

Trying to think back to what seemed like years ago, she sat for a moment and thought about the conversation they'd gotten into at her home last winter some time. "He got rather annoyed with me over something and accidentally slipped and asked why everyone thought he was gay."

"Wait. Nobody _actually_ thinks that right?"

With a shrug, she let her thoughts trail around the remembered conversation. "I told him it was just because he made average men jealous."

With a hum and a nod Catherine seemed to agree with that. Dorothy didn't bother worrying about it. That topic seemed so very long ago, and yet… yet it was when he'd called out her little disillusions about dating and marriage. Not that it had taken anything really. Dorothy Catalonia was not a woman who sat around wondering about her love-life… extensively.

These days it seemed she had everyone else in the world worried about that particular topic for her.

The question that she kept coming back to was simple. Why poor Quatre? What did he ever do to everyone to have them keep trying to throw her at him? Poor dear soul. He didn't deserve that.

Oh, this was the start of Andrew all over again! If anything would annoy her, it was that thought. Everyone from Relena to Catherine to Leilalie and Marquis Wayridge and even Andrew himself all seemed to find it appropriate to shove her in the "right" direction. And they were all just waiting for her to be the last to realize it and then humbly accept their recommendations with an embarrassed blush.

Who the hell did they think they were dealing with? Did she ask for this?

"Dorothy? You're spacing on me."

Looking up at Catherine again, she puffed out an irritated sigh. "Does everyone think I need help choosing a man?" she bitterly grumbled.

With a patient smile, the other tilted her head to the side. "Well, maybe you should do something about it yourself then."

--

"I didn't mean it like that," Catherine confessed as they finally let themselves back in to their suite.

Basic lesson for today: Don't give Dorothy a challenge. She's scary.

Catherine was not a woman that sat on the sidelines, she enjoyed being very friendly and outgoing. But Dorothy had apparently decided that she needed some flirting practice… and decided to try it out on every moderately attractive man in the area.

So, three pairs of shoes, five new tops and a pair of pants later, Dorothy had agreed to head back to the hotel with their collection of bags. OK, Dorothy's collection of bags. Catherine had only ended up with a couple barrettes and a pair of earrings.

Shopping was a little one-sided with this woman.

"Didn't mean what?" the blond asked, tossing her bags on the couch.

"You know, you don't have make up for lost time or something," Catherine mildly coached. "Men have a pretty good shelf life, you know."

The Lady gave her a rather undignified snort and laughed at her. "I'm not doing anything different."

"You're binging," she accused.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!" Dorothy huffed.

"Oh, you are too," she rolled her eyes. "You're just bitter because everyone else sees something you don't, so you're trying to rebel."

"I am not. I'm simply deciding to be more outgoing and seeing where it leads," Dorothy returned, walking around the coffee table and picking up a magazine laying on it.

"Whatever," Catherine threw up a hand. "You're just running away from destiny, girl. And try as you might, it'll come back and bite you in the butt."

"…Sooner than I think," Dorothy mumbled.

Losing all of her best philosophical airs, Catherine blinked and looked at her friend who stood motionless next to the couch, staring at the opened magazine in her hands. "Colony 18…wherever we are, calling Dorothy," she mumbled.

When the blond still didn't look up from where she was reading, Catherine huffed at her for being ignored and walked over. Hopping up on her toes, she leaned over her shoulder to look at the two-page spread opened in her hands.

_Bridging the Divide: Quatre Raberba Winner + Dorothy Catalonia?_

Catherine giggled at the headline and dropped her chin onto Dorothy's shoulder to happily analyze the picture. Across the top of the pages the photo caught the two looking at each other, other people casually in the background. Quatre was turned mostly away, his back to the camera while Dorothy was faced forwards. Still, there was no mistaking their profiles or the hint of a smile to both as he cordially offered a hand back to her, which she was still in the process of accepting when this snapshot was taken.

How sweet!

She didn't get any farther than that before Dorothy closed the magazine and threw it viciously across the room to smack against the window. Whispering a curse that Catherine hadn't figured the woman was capable of, Dorothy stalked off to pace the floor a couple times.

And Catherine stayed exactly where she was and very quiet as the woman silently fumed, steam almost literally coming out her ears.

Stopping in mid-stride, Dorothy took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself again before specifically walking over and picking the magazine back up off the floor and smoothing it out again from its crumpled condition.

"Um… Dorothy?" she very meekly tried.

"These stupid people. Doesn't anyone realize what this will do to him?" Dorothy spoke quietly to the pages in front of her before she opened it back to the article again. "I thought it was safe," she whispered. "This… this isn't how it's supposed to be."

Catherine watched in absolute dismay at the woman's words. Rushing over, she took the magazine away and held it up in front of her, expecting the worst. But instead of breaking down into tears, Catherine was faced with a woman that just looked… hollow.

"How many times can I fail him?" Dorothy whispered to herself, seemingly unaware that Catherine could still hear her.

Holding it against herself Catherine showed it to the blond. "Dorothy, what is it? What's so wrong about this?" she asked, hugging the abused thing in front of her.

Raising her eyes, it took a minute for Dorothy to respond. "He doesn't deserve to be the only one that doesn't hate me."

--

Quatre was in the middle of some very strange dream about trying to find a report in a giant row of filling cabinets while the rest of the room was filled with guests and there was some sort of party going on that he was supposed to be attending. Somehow, he was actually relieved when his phone startled him awake.

Shaking off the mismatched images, he tried to clear his throat before picking up the phone and then realized exactly how late it was. Instantly alert, he answered it hastily, trying to prepare himself for the worst, the ring tone telling him exactly who it was.

"Dorothy? What's wrong?" he snapped.

There was a couple seconds of silence before her voice calmly filtered over the line. "What do you mean?"

With a sigh of relief, he tipped back and flopped into his pillow again. "I'm sorry. I thought something happened. Why are you calling so late, then?" he relaxed his nerves once more.

"So late?" she questioned. "I…. Oh dear. Did I screw up the time difference again?"

And with a laugh, he closed his eyes and settled back into the sheets. "Apparently. Where are you two anyway?"

"L1… somewhere."

He blinked his eyes back open again. "What?" They were only going to be off traveling for two days and they went from L3 all the way to L1? "What did you go there for?"

"Well, this is just kind of where we stopped," she mumbled.

Quatre laid in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling, neither saying a word to that.

"…What?" she finally asked.

"You just got on a shuttle and ended up in L1?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course not."

He sighed.

"We got on a shuttle to the other side of L3, but it didn't seem like much, so then we skirted around to L5 and it was even worse, so we ended up on a flight into L1. Then Catherine asked a bum on the sidewalk for tourist attractions and now we're in something called 'Shop-Topia' and staying at this darling resort hotel."

Quatre just sighed again. "Only you," he muttered. Rethinking that, he gave his phone a confused look for a second. "Did you say she asked a bum on the sidewalk for tourist information?"

"Yes, I did," she returned. "Remind me to have a long, awkward conversation with you about that sometime."

"Okay," he drawled, utterly confused.

"The point isn't where I am," she vocally waved it off. "The point is this stupid magazine article."

"Oh," he fought back the smile. "You found that."

There was a long, weary sigh from her and his smile completely faded away. "I'm sorry, Quatre," she quietly apologized, which instantly worried him.

When she didn't continue, Quatre sat up in bed, trying to think of what the matter was. "For what?" he questioned. "Dorothy, what's wrong?"

Thousands of miles away, Dorothy Catalonia sat on her bed backwards, facing to look out at the still darkening colony around her. The giant bed was set against the corner of the room, floor to ceiling windows surrounding it and the canopy curtains still drawn together at the corners. Across her folded legs lay one of the pillows, and on top of that the article and picture still stared up at her accusingly.

"…How do I fail you so completely all in one week?" she whispered, more to her own hollow internal nagging than to him.

"What did you say?" Quatre returned, his voice snapping her thoughts back to the pages in her lap. "Dorothy… what are you talking about?"

The tone in his voice told her that he'd heard exactly what she'd said. Well, no reason to go back on it she supposed. It was the truth after all. How could she have been so blind? She knew better. She couldn't trust herself like this.

"Quatre, if you get questioned on this you're going to have to make an excuse," she turned reasonable again, her mind clicking automatically into salvage and cleanup. "You were invited by Marquis Wayridge and agreed to help host the function as a personal favor to Miss Relena. Escorting me was incidental."

"Excuse me?"

"Decline all other questions as not applying," she finished, running through the list of possible backlash topics. "But it has to be taken as not applicable, don't just fail to comment, that will make it worse."

"Dorothy, what are you talking about?" he broke in again. "Please slow down. This isn't even a credible source. Besides, I have no intentions of lying about anything if someone does actually ask."

"You're not lying," she snapped. "Now listen to me."

The harshness in her own voice echoed back to her in the absolute silence that presented itself. What was she doing?

Sucking down a deep breath she tossed the magazine aside and raised her knees and the pillow so that she hit her forehead on it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, close to just hanging up on him out of sheer frustration.

"Dorothy?" he questioned, that note of worry so deep it bordered on fear in his voice. She knew it so well after all this time.

Wrapping her free arm around her pillow and her knees, she buried her face in it for a second feeling like she just wanted to scream. Why did everything always dump on her all at once like this? It was like everything she was trying to accomplish in life had mutinied against her.

She had to think of a way to exonerate him from her. Exorcize him basically.

"Dorothy?" the question was more insistent in her ear this time. "Please, precious, talk to me," he half-pleaded.

And she pulled her face away from the pillow, one eyebrow actually quirking. Did he just call her "precious?" Absolutely despite everything going through her, her smirk threatened to come back. "Precious?"

"What?" came the confused question.

"Did you just call me 'precious?'" she asked again.

There was a lengthy pause before she heard a snap that sounded suspiciously like him slapping his forehead. "Um… sorry."

The smirk grew to an absolutely befuddled smile and then slowly she began to quietly snicker as the word "precious" just reverberated in her head. A deflated sigh was audible over the phone line as she turned to chuckling and when her mind flipped over to the image of him blushing his cute little head off Dorothy burst out laughing.

"Are you finished yet?" came the rather un-amused question as she tried to tilt the phone away so she wouldn't deafen him. "You do that to me all time," he grumbled in her ear. "I never stood around laughing at you."

It only made it worse and she tried to bury her face in the pillow again. If he was here… if he was here she'd do the same thing. She'd bury herself into him and just laugh. Just laugh. Pulling her face back she snatched away a tear that leaked from her eye.

Just laugh until she cried.

Sobering slowly, she wiped away another tear that leaked from her other eye as well and then looked up at the ceiling, forcefully willing the others to back down. "It just struck me funny," she commented, still fighting chuckles.

"Apparently," he grumbled. "What's wrong with 'precious?'"

"Nothing," she shook it off. "It's just the idea of you saying it."

With another sigh he apparently gave up. "Well, I'm glad I can amuse you," he bitterly added.

Dorothy sniffed and sucked down a calming breath once more. "Sorry," she mumbled.

There was a rustle in the background before he gave her a little chuckle of his own. "Alright then. What's eating at you about all of this?"

Shaking her head, she hugged the pillow to her again and looked over at the magazine. "I can't protect you from what this could do to public opinion," she slowly admitted, honesty seeming to be the only thing she had left right now.

"Am I asking you to?"

Now that was something she really didn't believe he'd just said.

"Dorothy, honestly, what's the worst that can happen? People decide I'm having a teenaged hormone attack, Winner Inc.'s stocks drop ten points, and then a week later some movie star gets married and divorced and everybody forgets about me," he listed. "It's not even worth my time to bother telling them it isn't true."

Dorothy pulled the phone away from her ear and checked the caller ID just to confirm that she was still talking to the same person. "It wouldn't?" she asked, confused with where this kind of attitude was coming from. That wasn't like Quatre. He took everything personally. This should really bother him.

"I don't care," he emphasized. "I can't care. What's the alternative? I'm not going to go through my whole life convincing people you mean nothing to me every time a shot like this comes out. And I have no intensions of giving you up. If we start sneaking around out of the public eye, then they're going to think we're having an affair or something even worse," he exaggerated.

"Quatre," she admonished.

"Tell me it isn't true," he sighed.

She couldn't. "That doesn't me feel better," she said instead.

"I know it doesn't," he gently consoled her. "But this is the same debated we've had since the very beginning. I thought… I thought maybe you'd stop being so worried about it after this," he slowly confided.

"After what?" she asked. But she knew what he was hinting at. For some reason it turned her stomach inside out.

"I'd gotten the hints," he quietly confessed. "They just didn't make much sense until I knew for sure that you were part of… the group."

Oracle. He just wouldn't say it over the phone. Now that he knew she was part of Oracle.

"Something like this could have posed a physical threat to both of us, couldn't it?"

There was no debating that he understood. She just wished he hadn't found out like that. "Probably not a physical threat. But if the others had thought you would leak the group's involvement, or warn someone we were investigating, because I got too careless… they would have discredited you before anything got out," she admitted.

"Discredited me?" he asked. "You mean turned me in."

Swallowing, she shook her head. "No. They wouldn't run the risk of you taking down the others too. Besides, Une would never allow you to be prosecuted. No, they would be a little more indirect. Rumors are all that would be needed, and along with that, they would ruin the company and anything else they felt you could fall back on. I would be… probably in the same position."

"And so the comments about being careful with you. The idea that a Romafeller connection—"

"Is still true and valid," she cut him off. "Becoming part of the group only placated fallout from them, not everyone."

"But anyone else is just opinion, isn't it? There's no one else that would actually do anything, right?"

For a while the quiet dragged on as each consciously analyzed the repercussions of that knowledge.

"You've been protecting me all this time," Quatre quietly broke back into her thoughts. "All of us, I know that," he corrected. "But, you still stayed beside me…" he trailed out uncertainly. "Thank you."

Dorothy hadn't expected that. "I endangered you," she refuted. "Do you understand that? There's no reason to thank me."

It was true. For her own personal, selfish reasons she had kept him in the sights of Oracle. She had paced a very thin line for so long with his livelihood in her hands, all purely because… she didn't want to let him go.

Glancing over at the picture still open beside her, Dorothy berated herself. It was exactly that: Selfish. She knew that Oracle wouldn't like the idea of Quatre being publicly tied to her, but she was confident enough that she could fall back on Marquis Wayridge's support that it wouldn't matter. She had thought it was safe enough for her to… indulge.

Quatre didn't understand. He was still being far too sentimental. Thanking her. For what?

Pulling her right hand away from her knees, she held it up to what was left of the light, the ring there twinkled faintly. She knew exactly what being sentimental brought. Pinching the phone between her shoulder and ear, she ripped the thing off her hand once more.

"Do please forgive me, Quatre," she finished, hanging up before his stunned silence wore off.

Getting off the bed she left her phone on the nightstand and put her shoes back on before it began to ring again. Dorothy ignored it as best she could and quickly hurried out of her bedroom and their suite. It took all the patience she had to wait for the elevator and once down she quickly paced through the lobby and hit the streets outside running.

Five or six blocks later she found the park area that she'd been looking for. On the opposite corner was the front entrance to Shop-Topia that they had passed through earlier. A few doors in, across the park, was a shelter and food pantry, the one that Catherine had gotten their brochure from.

Slowing her pace, she kept sucking down air trying to quiet the turmoil in her as she crossed the park in the twilight blue. Finding the lights on at the front of the shelter, she didn't bother to go inside. Instead, she noticed the donations box affixed next to the door, a scripture passage carved over it.

She would have thought it was a nice gesture if her eyes hadn't been too blurry to read it. Raising the lid, she finally unclenched her hand and gave the ring one last look before dropping it down the shoot. Spinning away, she wrapped her arms around herself and started back towards the park.

"Bless you, Ma'am."

Startled she turned to find an older man there next to the doorway, standing in the shadows as though keeping watch.

"You alright there, Miss?" he asked once he saw her face.

Swallowing, she blinked rapidly to try to keep the tears back still. "I will be," she admitted. "I hope it helps," she stated instead. Turning away she had to leave before talking made her break down any farther.

"It sure will," he answered. "I always see the best people here…" he quietly trailed out as she slipped away.

Best people? She almost laughed at that as she sniffled, forcing her eyes to dry by pure willpower. That ring used to belong to the best of people. Maybe it would again. But certainly not with her.

Finding a solitary bench, she sat down for just a minute. She wasn't cold-hearted. As soon as Quatre figured out she wasn't going to answer her phone he would have switched to trying Catherine's. And if she wasn't still in the shower her friend would realize she was gone and probably come out looking for her.

They'd probably both be upset if she didn't go back soon. But she just needed a minute. Just one lousy minute.

How had she let her plans fail this badly? Had she lost all control over herself? Leaning back on the bench, she pulled her knees up, never uncrossing her arms from their hug.

She could handle being found out by Andrew. There was nothing she could have done to stop that anyway. He was trusted within the circle and only a few would have found it odd that he was checking up on things out of curiosity. But she should have known that he would go that far, and she didn't.

She hadn't seen it coming. Just like his affections for her. None of it had been part of her analysis. He cared about her and it had driven him to take a variable path that she would never have predicted.

Dorothy Catalonia couldn't predict emotions.

They weren't fair. They didn't formulate the way she expect or wanted them to. They weren't rational and there was no pattern to judge them on.

And now…. Hanging her head, Dorothy finally just let a couple tears slip through her lashes.

Quatre. What was she doing to him? Since the very moment she decided to see him again after _Libra_ she had known that the fledgling group of evidence scrubbers she'd put together would have concerns about her working with one of the Gundam pilots. At the beginning it was easy though. There was only one good way to keep track of the group, and had anyone asked, she would have admitted that she intended to keep an eye on them.

Why exactly she was doing it was her own business though.

"_You've been a great help to this planning commission. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."_

"_Of course, Mr. Winner. I'll be in touch."_

"_Thank you. Have a pleasant trip."_

_The man walked out of the office and the voices died from her range of hearing again. It was then that the lady behind the desk stood and turned towards the still open doorway. "Excuse me, Mr. Winner?"_

_"Yes, I've gone over my time for the conference room, haven't I? I'm sorry. I'll be happy to reimburse the next time slot."_

"_That's quite alright, Mr. Winner. It's no trouble at all. I've only come to tell you that there is someone else waiting to speak with you. A Lady Catalonia."_

_Dorothy would have done anything to see the look that crossed his face. There was no question of who, or what name. There was only a long silence._

"_Mr. Winner? Is there a problem?" the receptionist had asked._

"…_None," he'd quietly answered, but Dorothy had strained herself enough to hear it. "Would you mind if I spoke to her here?"_

"_Not at all, Sir. I'll show her in," the woman had quickly related and then stepped out the doorway toward Dorothy._

_Calmly she looked up from her book as though unaware of the preceding conversation and the woman gave her a smile and waved back to the doorway's direction. "You may go in now."_

"_Thank you," she gave the woman a smile and closed her book. Adding it to her case, she took her own sweet time in collecting it and walking to the door. Squashing down the prickly, grinding feeling tearing up her insides, she purposefully added her typical smirk to her perfectly glossed lips and strode through the door exactly three feet before pausing to find her audience. "You're a hard man to reach these days, Mr. Winner," she pointedly pinned him with her eyes._

_Quatre stood at the head of the table nearest the door, turned halfway to look at her as though rooted in the spot. With some measure of nervous delight she watched his stunned eyes flicker over her appearance. But he threw her neatly laid script out the window instantly. His eyes softened as a hint of a smile actually brushed his lips, aimed exclusively at her. "Miss Dorothy… you're not an easy woman to find these days," he'd returned._

_Neither one of them had changed. It had taken only seconds for each to determine that. And with it, the fronts that they both engaged the public with disintegrated._

_Now, it was personal._

_With a curiously raised eyebrow, Dorothy sauntered a few more steps into the room, purposefully not closing the door. She wasn't after a private conversation. She didn't trust getting into the finer details of their last engagement this soon in the program. "That would imply that you've been looking."_

_The smile was grating at her nerves, and when it widened she mentally cursed him for it. "Then I guess I've already given myself away."_

_He knew she was toying with him. He was expecting it. Very observant. "Does a man in your position have so much free time that he wastes it on idle searches?" Making sure she wasn't starting the next war already, most likely. Continuing her pace she swished past him to the side of the table and set her_ _case down on it to open it, ignoring his eye contact._

_"My position isn't actually as time consuming at the moment as most people tend to think. Actually… I'm happy to see you're well."_

_That irritating earnestness of his. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end although she couldn't figure out why. Was this man so danged honest about everything? But, she knew him as well as he did her. Dorothy had expected something to the effect. "You as well," she purposefully drawled, not turning her eyes to him._

_Quatre Raberba Winner was not a dense man; the fact that he refused to comment on the insinuation was purposeful. _

_He had healed after all. As soon as her blade actually stopped she had known that it wasn't a vital wound. A minor repair surgery and a month of stitches and he would have no long-term health affects. Still… it probably hurt like hell._

_That wasn't her task for the day._

_She finally pulled the document she'd been looking for out of her case. And she did it as though there was anything else besides blank paper and empty folders in it to start with. "I'll skip to the chase, Mr. Winner. I have," she turned to offer him the covered document, "a motive for this meeting."_

_Her phrasing was laughably obvious but it seemed to confuse him just a bit as he studied her a second before taking the folder from her hands. There was no distrust in his actions, he didn't keep his eyes on her, nothing._

_It unnerved her but she didn't show it._

_Aside from the fact that he hadn't budged an inch since she'd entered, he seemed completely comfortable with the exchange. Perhaps she was taking the wrong approach with this?_

_Too late now, she'd worn her shortest skirt._

_Flipping it open, he paid no mind to her at all as he skimmed the document. "This is…" he trailed out, reading farther. "You're offering to back the new colony project," he stated shakily, returning to look up at her. "It hasn't started yet."_

"_Mainly due to a lack of funding," she confirmed. "I found it fun that Winner Enterprises was willing to foot such an extent of the bill, plus contracting the final construction phases." Internally she was happy with how informed that sounded. "But you're still short."_

_Quatre didn't turn back to the proposal in his hands. Instead, he only looked at her as though analyzing her face. She didn't like it, but she stood up under it. "Why?"_

_With a hum she softly closed her eyes and then turned back to the table to close her case again. "I find myself bored and in a nasty tax bracket these days. I am piecing together a number of investments to rectify that. However, I seem to have a difficult time getting anyone not to cringe at my name, and I'm preferring to stay as silent as possible for the time being."_

_Picking up her bag again she met his eyes as he openly regarded her. Barely two feet separated them but she didn't feel she was succeeding in making him claustrophobic as she typically did with men. _

"_Please do look it over, Mr. Winner," she smirked at him. "It seems I've saved you the trouble of finding me. My contact information is on the back." Rounding for the door she knew exactly when the ends of her hair brushed past him in her wake but pretended not to notice._

"_Miss Dorothy," he called after her, still using the same title he had with her in Sanq._

_Pausing she turned back over her shoulder to find he had finally moved, at least enough to face fully towards her, the proposal closed and ignored in his hand. "Yes?"_

_There was a moment of interior battle in him where she could tell he was fighting himself on what to say. But the same soft smile settled onto his expression. "Please call me Quatre. I'm not really used to 'Mr. Winner' yet."_

_Quirking an eyebrow, Dorothy very nearly laughed at him then and there. This could end up being a very long-standing game indeed. "I dare say that will pass quickly."_

_He indulged her a small chuckle for it and a nod. "But then, I'm incorrect, aren't I? It's Lady Catalonia now, isn't it?" he asked, almost happily conversational._

Since I am the last of my line, yes, that's me._ The thought didn't escape her lips though and she merely nodded._

_There was a flicker of hesitation, but the little smile never faltered. "Could I interest you in a cup of tea or something?" he genuinely asked. "…It's been a while." Almost five months._

_Was he so prepared to rush into that conversation? Perhaps she had overestimated her impact. No matter, she wasn't prepared for that today. She wasn't exactly prepared for his acceptance to be so immediate—or at all for that matter—either. "Another time, I'm afraid…" she closed her eyes and turned away out the door, "Mr. Winner."_

"_Of course," came the soft response after her back._

Oddly enough she wondered now what he'd really thought of her during that exchange.

She'd never really gone back and asked what he'd meant by her being hard to find. As soon as the documents cleared and she won the right to her inheritance despite her age, she'd dropped out of sight for a while. Moving herself into the cabin at Lago Bonito, she had traveled only enough to keep in touch with some of the downward spiraling Romafeller members that she still considered allies.

She'd hidden away for a while and basically licked her wounds before she came back with the vengeance that she had always been known for, throwing herself into everything at once. When she was certain that their was no truly incriminating evidence left within easy reach, she had tracked down Quatre as the final piece to discovering her place in an era of peace.

But that was when Lady Une took the position of Commander and with it she took hold of the reigns, creating the Oracle that existed now. Dorothy had sunk slowly away, leaving the organization to the far more experienced individuals around her. She had other things to worry about.

And over time, her random meetings with Quatre broadened a little, their chats mellowing. They became fun. By the time he asked her to go the beneficiaries' dinner with him she had become almost complacent with how well public opinion had changed for the pilots and the veteran's in general.

Maybe that was why she'd let him get to her that night.

The stray tears had dried on her cheeks already and Dorothy realized that she'd been here longer than she'd intended. Uncurling from her position, she stood up and walked back to the hotel.

Quatre wouldn't let her go. Ever since that night he'd followed after her like her guardian angel. Always right there, even when she didn't know she needed him. She'd tried warning him away, tried making him understand that it was dangerous, but it hadn't mattered.

And now that he did know exactly what it could have cost him… there was no longer a threat. And apparently he was just thrilled about it.

He hadn't stopped to be angry with her for endangering him all this time. He didn't even see it that way.

"_Thank you."_ Why "thank you?" Because she'd stayed beside him? That wasn't for him. That was for her. For… whatever stupid reason made her stay there. For whatever game she was playing with herself, holding his life in the balance like that. He should slap her for it, not thank her.

With a sigh she stopped and stared up at the rows of lights along the colony ceiling.

Never. Quatre Raberba Winner would never harm her emotionally let alone physically. He wasn't capable of it.

Realizing something else she continued on towards the hotel. He wasn't capable of letting her go either. And she… wasn't capable of walking away. He held her emotions, and her very life basically. She'd considered him her foundation before, and it was true. Quatre was the only thing that held her up some days… no matter how much it annoyed her.

With a chuckle at that thought she turned into the lobby and called an elevator, looking around to make sure Catherine wasn't running back and forth out front trying to find her.

So, it seemed that she was stuck with Mr. Winner after all of this time. Dorothy supposed the only thing left to do was admit defeat and allow whatever would happen to come without her—obviously useless—attempts to stop it.

Getting into the elevator she pressed the top floor's button and then took a good look at her hand where her mother's wedding ring had been. No, she wasn't that foolish. She couldn't give in to a flight of fancy whenever she felt like it. Her life was already on loan to her because of another.

Dorothy Catalonia had a debt to repay and she would stand exactly where Quatre needed her. No more, no less.

--

Quatre was in his home office flying through calculations. From what Dorothy had told him he'd found which colony they were on. L1 184526, home of Shop-Topia. Even at top speed and the most direct route it would still take his private shuttle two and a half hours to get there, not including getting out of, and into, docking stations.

He had to calm down. This was pointless. Dorothy was a perfectly rational woman. She wasn't going to just run away. Sitting down in his chair, he dropped his head into his hands. The past week or two hadn't been kind to her; she just needed a little time to collect herself again.

He'd called Catherine when he'd gotten her voicemail for the third time. Apologizing for probably being paranoid he'd asked her to check in on Dorothy. But she'd said exactly what he was dreading to hear. Dorothy's bedroom was empty and she was gone, her phone left on the bedside table.

His heart throbbed away in his chest, scared despite his attempts to reassure himself. He'd told Catherine the truth, that she was a little upset with this article and that she'd all but hung up on him. It seemed Catherine was already a little worried about her, but he'd made her promise to stay put for now and wait for her to come back. It had been a hard thing for someone like Catherine to do.

Although it tore him up twice as hard, he made her stay in the suite they apparently had. At least someone would be there.

Dorothy didn't appreciate anyone trying to look after her when she wasn't herself. She tended to run away when she couldn't put up the front that everything was all right.

It'd be OK. She'd be back soon, and if not, Catherine could go then and see if she was somewhere close by.

This was all his fault.

In the first place he shouldn't have called her about the article. He'd debated it, but knew she'd be angry with him for not telling her if he waited, so he'd broken down and called. In all truth, he'd been rather pleased with it himself. It wasn't anything derogatory really. The supposed "attraction" that it went on and on about was far fetched and completely untrue, but the premise of an "inter-system" romance blossoming among Miss Relena's noted supporters was actually kind of nice.

And he'd also been very happy to note how many of Dorothy's achievements had been accurately presented as well. Her work with Mars and the new colony had topped the list of reasons the publication gave for why they made such a "star-crossed" couple.

He hadn't realized she wouldn't find it even the least bit endearing like he did. Dorothy almost seemed heartbroken about being depicted like that with him.

And then what did he do? He specifically brought up his inclusion in Oracle. Quatre had honestly believed that he'd found, and now removed, the main obstacle that had always kept her from seeing him in some type of romantic light.

Apparently that was not only wrong but a very insensitive thing to do. Dorothy wasn't finding this turn of events to be a bonus. Instead, she'd been…. What? She'd been embarrassed to have him find out that he'd technically been in harm's way all this time?

Like he wasn't used to that. Raising his head again he shook it in worried irritation. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? Couldn't she—

He jumped when his phone rang and snatched it from his desk and answered it before he even figured out which one was calling. "Hello?"

"Can you call off the dogs? Catherine's ready to rip my hair out one strand at a time."

"Dorothy," he sighed in relief.

"What happened to 'precious?'" she teased.

Oh no she didn't. Not this time. "Don't ever hang up on me again," he threatened, absolutely at wit's end.

There was a lengthy pause, during which he mentally slapped himself and then heard muffled yelling in the background. "Hey, you wanted me to call him," Dorothy answered the other voice, apparently ignoring the phone. "If you're both going to yell at me you have to do it one at a time. I go for one lousy walk and you people lose your sense."

Quatre just sighed and stayed quiet while the two girls battled it out for a minute. Maybe he shouldn't have called Catherine at all. He was pretty sure that Dorothy would not be enjoying the rest of her vacation at this rate.

"Oh, good grief. I'm sorry!" Dorothy finally yelled.

"Next time you have a fight with your boyfriend, do it on your own time!" Catherine threw back.

_That's not going to help me_, Quatre mentally rolled his eyes.

"We did not have a fight," she returned in utter exasperation. "Would you tell her we did not have a fight?" she finally turned back to him, obviously not realizing that she didn't have to shout for him to hear her.

"Put her on," he mildly sighed.

"Here."

"What do I want with him?"

"You're the one that thinks he drove me to playing in traffic."

"I what?" he mumbled.

"Women don't usually just run away in the middle of the night after talking to a guy unless he did something stupid."

"Excuse me," he tried to interrupt.

"Middle of the night? It's like nine o'clock."

"You know what I mean!"

"What are you cranky about anyway? I went for a walk! I was gone a whole fifteen minutes. What is the problem?"

"Maybe you should explain that to Mr. Freaked Out and Panicked, then."

"Oh, honestly. It's Quatre. What do you expect?"

"Well, I…." And then the laughter started.

Irritated and annoyed Quatre decided that Dorothy was back to being just peachy. Deliberately holding the phone up in front of him, he purposefully closed it and hung up. If Dorothy wanted to be a good little girl and explain herself—honestly—then she could just call him back. And he would try very hard to wait for it to ring a few times before he answered it.

For now he was going back to bed.

Standing up he closed down the calculations program that he'd drawn up with a sigh at himself for ever worrying. And then jumped when "The Wedding March" came blaring out of his speakers and the raining hearts of the "Fezzes Love Connection" virus kicked in.

With an absolutely defeated moan, he plopped back down in the chair and stared at the stupid screen full of dancing hearts. The box in the middle winked back at him. _I love Dorothy. Yes. No._

Clicking yes he got the thing to shut up at least. And when the screen went back to normal he leaned over and smacked his forehead against the desk. His phone chose that moment to ring again and he slowly answered it without raising his head. "I'm sorry but the party you are trying to call is very tired and irritated with you right now."

"Alright, I'm sorry," Dorothy stated, much calmer down. "I reacted badly and should not have made you worry. I just… needed to get rid of something," she softly admitted.

Picking his head up he propped it up with an elbow on the desk. "You didn't just go for a walk, and I know it," he softly accused. "You've been under a lot of pressure and a lot stress in the past couple weeks. Please just be honest with me."

With a sigh Dorothy paused for a second. "Where do you want me to start?"

With a little smile, Quatre closed his eyes. _That's my girl._

--

"They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?" - Princess Diana

AN: OK, I admit this is a really poor quote for this chapter, but if was too funny not to use. You guys expect me to be witty all the time?


	52. Chapter 52

AN: This chapter just randomly decided to get written and finished, so I obliged it by posting it. My goal is to be working on "Realizations" because it is long over due (as always). Thank you for continually putting up with me: your random but faithful author.

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 52

Dorothy had finally abandoned herself into a fitful sleep by the early morning hours. She'd exhausted herself tossing and turning and generally making a mess out of the gigantic bed, and now lay not-quite-peacefully asleep.

Until she was woken by a soft noise just before one of the extra pillows came flying towards her face. With an alarmed squeak, she blocked it with a sheet-tangled arm before it contacted with her nose this time around. "Catherine!" she hoarsely yelled at her.

"Oh, I missed," the other whined.

Dorothy actually snuggled into the other pillow that she'd deflected beside her and rolled over. "I don't wanna go to the circus," she mumbled.

A quickly bouncing body landed on her bed and obviously hopped along until Catherine was sitting behind her back. "Come on, your highness. I don't have a prince handy to wake you up, but I might be able to find a frog."

"Don't you dare," she half-heartedly threatened.

"You can't sleep the whole day," Catherine whined again.

"Whole day?" she blinked her eyes open slowly. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock."

Rolling over she let her head lull to the side to blink groggily up at her annoying little friend. "How does eight o'clock become all day?"

"It is in my book!" she happily smiled down at her.

"You need more experience with this vacation thing," Dorothy decided and rolled back to snuggling the pillow.

"Yes, I do. We should do this more often," Catherine mused to herself.

She didn't respond and instead only curled deeper into the covers. It took a second but then she felt another pillow land against her back and Catherine obviously decided that if she wasn't getting up, she'd just join her.

"How long did you two stay up last night?" she asked, obviously meaning her and Quatre's phone conversation.

"What are you, my mother?" she grumbled.

"I think you owe me after all that," came the snippy reply.

They were both way too bent out of shape about this. "I don't remember."

"What did you talk about?" she hunted anyway.

"Stuff."

"Like?"

Finally she sighed. "A lot of things happened this week with the fundraiser. Some of it really got on my nerves," she admitted.

"Like being pictured as his love interest?"

"That was just the icing on the doughnut," Dorothy muttered and struggled to break free of the wadded up sheets and stretched.

"But you two are so cute," Catherine cooed. "You should have heard him. He was all worried when I said you weren't here, but he was trying to keep _me_ calm about it. I would have laughed if I'd known for sure you were coming back."

"He's so paranoid," she grumbled.

"That's what he said," Catherine laughed. "'She's going to say I'm being paranoid, but could you just check and make sure she's all right?' You can't fault the guy for worrying about you. It's sweet."

"That's why it's annoying," she decided.

"Because he's sweet? Wow are you stuck with the wrong guy."

Dorothy once again pushed her eyes back open and looked up at her friend. "Stuck?" Funny, that was the same conclusion she'd come to last night.

"Of course you're stuck. Any guy that openly cares that much about you is in this for life," she nodded to herself. "Haven't you ever just stopped to think that Quatre probably already loves you?" Catherine randomly asked.

Dorothy blinked at her for a second, taken aback by the question. "I'm not dense," she grumbled at her. "Of course I have."

Catherine was just about to go on to say something else when she stopped short, obviously surprised by that. "You have?" she balked. "So what are you doing about it?"

Dorothy rolled over and kicked her way out of the covers and stood up with a yawn. "Just because I've considered it doesn't mean I believe it."

"Oh," came the miserable moan from behind her. Turning, Dorothy was in time to look down at her as Catherine collapsed into the pillow. "Why does he put up with you?" came the muffled complaint.

With a shrug, Dorothy took the holder out of her hair and began unbraiding it. "Quatre knows me better than anyone else. It's just his nature for him to care."

"Yeah," she popped her head back up. "Because_ something's_ definitely wrong with the guy."

Dorothy looked at her bitter expression for a minute and then nodded her agreement with that.

--

The two had snatched breakfast on the go and were out the door soon after. Bouncing around from area to area, the girls had wandered through the shops and street venders for the remainder of the morning before splitting up for an hour or so in an interior mall.

Dorothy had taken the chance to wander through a few jewelry stories. She had apparently become quite used to wearing a ring and now actually felt a little naked without it. Nothing held any interest to her though and she was beginning to think that it wasn't the lack of the physical ring that nagging at her.

She may have been a little rash last night to have given her own mother's wedding ring away.

Well, it didn't matter now. It was over and done with and part of her felt liberated by the decision. Dorothy didn't have a clue what she was supposed to be living up to these days, but she had come to a very real understanding that she was not, and never would be, Leilalie.

So she wasn't the little girl that her parents had probably expected her to be. And she wasn't sure she felt the least bit heartbroken by that. She also wasn't the Mistress her grandfather would have liked her to be either. Dorothy hadn't raised a finger to keep Romafeller as a fully functional foundation, and she didn't feel guilty about that either.

So, where did that leave her? Young, rich, well invested, grudgingly respected for at least a noteworthy cause or two. The article had at least boosted her confidence a little as to how the general Colonial population viewed her in that regard. She had a Preventers badge, was an Oracle agent—areas which crossed more often than not—was affiliated personally with a number of high ranking political figures—not the least of which was Vice Minister Darlian—and was quite chummy with a number of the most wanted criminals in history. Not to mention that one of these days she'd get that danged law degree.

…She'd consider herself marketable.

Dorothy supposed her real problem was in the "where do I go from here" category. She really had nothing left to look forward to in life. She'd already settled into her cabin on the lake with her faithful cat. What now? She wasn't about to take up fishing.

Walking along the outer railing of the third floor she could just hear the squeals of laughter from the children's playground in the center of the ground floor. Glancing down she couldn't help but smile at the groups of twirling playground equipment in brightly colored paints and fabrics.

Maybe she could write children's books. _Once upon a time there was a young, rich, well-invested woman with a cat…._

More like campfire stories.

Rolling her eyes to herself she continued along to the café that she was supposed to be meeting Catherine at. Sitting down on the bench outside the door she tucked her bags next to her feet to wait and uninterestedly watched the other mall patrons walk by, the music of the playground below still audible.

Maybe she shouldn't have bypassed college. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to have it out of the way, but now she was stuck being nineteen with no use for school or a real job. She had a few career opportunities with the Terra-forming project, but most of them included a free one-way trip to Mars.

She didn't find that all too appealing. Not to mention Deimos would be quite confused with everyone talking about his name.

Thinking about that a little harder she didn't suppose that the Mars Colony would allow pets. Dorothy would have to give him away. She didn't know that Felicia and her family liked him that well to keep the little fur ball.

With a silent snicker, she figured she should give him to Quatre. Something to remember her by, and all.

Poor Quatre wouldn't have any shoelaces left. Not to mention that he'd have a stroke if she told him she was moving to Mars for four years.

Poor Quatre indeed. He'd need the snotty little attitude of her kitty to keep him company. The man wouldn't know how to react otherwise.

With a sigh at herself, she glanced around for Catherine but couldn't spot the waves of auburn anywhere in the crowd around her. She needed to start carrying a watch.

Across the footbridge in the middle of the massive building, she spotted a news store and candy shop with an antique-looking clock free standing at the back of the store. Not being able to read it from here she picked up her bags again and slipped off towards the clock.

Stepping through a few other people she crossed the bridge and inside the store, noticing that she was at least twenty minutes early for their rendezvous. Disappointed actually, she turned to see what else was a around here when a thought caught up with her. Turning back she took a curious look at the layout of the store, the sheer number of periodicals making it hard to read them all.

Slipping in farther, she ducked towards the front counter and scanned the rows until she hit onto the section she was looking for. Turning a couple of the racks, she finally found the one that she'd been looking for, only to find a newer issue looking back at her. Regardless, Dorothy picked up the copy of _Headliner Herald_ and flipped through it, searching the stories.

This time nothing caught her attention and with a small sigh of relief she put the magazine back. So it had been a fluke. Good. She wasn't willing to deal with the public backlash, whether Quatre was or not.

Trailing through the back issues though, she found yesterday's copy tucked behind it and pulled it free. Staring at it for a second she mentally shrugged and took it to the counter and paid for it. Her copy was rather crumpled at the moment and in the hotel wastebasket.

Now that she was thinking clearer about this, it nagging at her. The guests were all noted business or political figures. None of them would have been very willing participants to gather photos for a publication like this. And yet, this was the only article done about the fundraiser.

Someone there had snuck the pictures out. Dorothy hadn't mentioned it to Quatre, but she had a pretty good idea who and why. And knowing that, she tried very hard not to laugh to herself on her way out the door again, already flipping it open to the appropriate page.

Dorothy Catalonia hated being underestimated. Something would need to be done.

Pausing against the railing overlooking the building's center, she stopped on the spread and looked down at the picture. Her dear Mr. Winner really had terrible taste in friends.

Scrutinizing it farther she couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at Quatre's image. She wasn't sure she shared Catherine's enthusiastic view of the "edibleness" of his appearance. He was adorable as always but she had seen to it that he looked at least most of his age. The man had seen and done more in his short seventeen years than most accomplished in ninety, but the youthful features blinded others from seeing it.

Dorothy was probably guilty of that too. She really held it as no secret that the vast majority of the men she had found herself infatuated with at random intervals were all twice her age. Not that she had wasted her time dwelling on any of them enough to think of anything romantic.

But Quatre was a paradox. Sometimes he seems so hopelessly naïve and innocent that it was hard to remember that he really wasn't that much younger than her. Other times, she saw the primeval storms that tormented those sea blue eyes.

That was the touch of fire that drew her like a moth. He held it so concealed that it teased her. Had she clung to his side so long just in bated anticipation of the few glimpses she got of it? Or was she still, after all this time, trying to figure out the absolute absurdity of the logic of Quatre Raberba Winner?

The absolute belief and devotion to the good in mankind. Even with his last painful breaths of consciousness, he had refused on _Libra_ to let her win the argument. Even when she had shown him the worst of human nature, he had refused to believe it. She had brought him to his knees, but he had….

Dorothy sighed to herself and closed the magazine.

He had reduced her to silence. And at the end, his undaunted kindness had brought her to tears.

Tucking the magazine into one of her bags, she glanced again at her ring-less finger. _"I always see the best people…."_ Dorothy had become quite familiar with the best of people.

Checking the time again, she wandered off down the rows of shops to make a loop to the next bridge and back to the café.

Catherine's random revelation that Quatre loved her was as obvious as it was immaterial. Quatre loved anyone that he knew for more than two days. Well, almost anyone, she smirked to herself. His very nature demanded an emotional response towards every single person he met.

And as ingrained as they were in each other's lives by this time, there was no other conclusion to draw really. He cared. And as such, he loved.

They both had problems with falling in love too quickly. Dorothy just had a more selfish view of it was all; that passionate edge, there was nothing that compared to it for her. It was a similarity, and yet a distinction. Just like everything else between them.

No one would ever be able to claim Quatre's whole heart. Some only held more than others. …A lot more. Once or twice she'd let that worry her, but each time she'd come to the same insight that there was really nothing she could do about it. No matter how often she forgot it, Quatre would just have to deal with his own emotions.

Dorothy had figured out that she really had no business trying to influence them.

Why it didn't annoy her to have these thoughts she wasn't sure. She wasn't one to crave being "loved" really, and her controlling nature should have been frustrated. She supposed that it was just such a natural progression that it had slipped up on her. Honestly she hadn't really thought of these things in such terms before this. Love was not an open topic for discussion inside her head.

What she knew was that Quatre cared very dearly for her. And after last night, she admitted that she needed to tread a little more gently with him. The poor soul had a knack for worrying himself to death. And she also knew what she'd felt months ago. He was still searching for something in her that she was sure he wouldn't find.

Perhaps he really held on to some figment of hope that she'd lead him somewhere with this relationship. But there were things she had no experience with, and in emotions Quatre was far superior to her. She had no doubts that he'd realize that and leave her be. Her only real worry was that he'd feel it necessary to try to push her into something too.

"_Where's that adventurous side of you that wants to fight for something instead of taking the convenient way out?"_ he'd asked. _"You're in love with a challenge."_

It had annoyed her how right he was. Dorothy just didn't know what to do with it.

She really needed to stop thinking so much.

--

Catherine had been dropped off back to the colony the circus was presently on, and Dorothy had seen her off again. Her bubbly little friend had insisted that she stay with them the night and head back later, but Dorothy had managed to decline. She was finally ready to go home, and really wanted to get there.

And so, most of eight hours later, she walked through her front door, still trying to figure out why it was late afternoon here… and what day it was. Time zones were such a pain. Maybe she could lobby to have them all banished. What would the Colonists care? All they had to do was turn on the lights and call it a different hour.

Speaking of Colonists, there was one paranoid little soul that insisted she call him when she was safely home again. The things she didn't do to humor him.

But a little tinkling sound caught her attention as she set her bags down on the front sofa. Felicia must have dropped Deimos off again already. "Here, kitty, kitty," she called, wandering back towards the dinning room and the door to her office.

A fuzzy little face poked out to look at her from the doorway for a second before Deimos came trotting out towards her.

"There's my kitty," she cooed to him as she picked him up. "Did you miss me?" she asked, scratching him under his chin as he settled in for the petting and purred at her.

Deimos really wasn't a kitten anymore. He'd grown as much as all cats do in the past few months and was probably about half his size already. But he was still a cutie, and starting to mellow out some now.

That was fine with her, maybe she could take down the makeshift cages from around her orchids one of these days.

"Were you good for Felicia?" she asked him, carrying the cat into her office and sitting down in the chair. A stack of mail sat on top, a couple packages from the Mars Satellite as well. All of that could wait. And even if it couldn't, it would.

She riffled through the rest, sorting out the bills, pitching the junk mail, and keeping the rest. Finally she came to cream envelope, hand addressed to her. Curious she turned it over and smiled at the return address.

_Miss Nashita Winner._ Ah, the wedding invitation then. Dorothy had wondered if she'd get one. Leaving her kitty in her lap, she opened the envelope and read through the announcement and then pulled out her phone and added the date to her calendar for next month. That done she turned on her vid-line and called up Quatre's work number.

"Winner Enterprises, how may I direct your call?"

"Extension 111, please," she answered the receptionist's voice.

"One moment. …I'm sorry, that extension is in use, would like voice mail?"

"No. Extension 112?"

"One moment." This time she got the hold music.

"Always busy isn't he?" she asked the ball of fur in her lap as she petted him.

"Executive offices, how may I help you?"

"Mrs. Shanelle," Dorothy smiled to the elder woman on the screen. "How are you today?"

"Oh, quite well," the lady smiled cheerfully at her. "How are you Lady Dorothy?"

"Tired at the moment," she answered honestly. "I'm sure Quatre's busy, would you just let him know that I called and I'm home?"

"Oh, let me just connect you," she said instead with a smile. And Dorothy was back to the blue logo of the company and the hold music before she could say she really didn't need to wait for him.

He must have just finished his call, because a second later his image popped up. "Lady Catalonia."

"Mr. Winner," she greeted. "I think your receptionists know me too well."

"You say that like you expect them to be able to forget you," he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him with a chuckle and waved it off. "I have a lovely invitation in my hands here," she moved back to it. "But it didn't exactly come with instructions on how to get to this place."

"That's because there's no good way to give directions," he chuckled. "If you'd allow me, we'll pick you up."

With a nod, she'd been hoping he'd say that. "Alright."

"It'll be probably two days early though."

Tucking the invitation away, she looked back at the knowing little smile on his face. "Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.

"There are few oddities that… I don't think you'll want to miss," Quatre smiled at her.

"Well now, that does sound fun," Dorothy purred.

With a nod, he didn't tell her any more than that, which really piqued her curiosity.

Apparently she wasn't the only one curious though, because Deimos suddenly sprang up from her lap and onto her desk. Quatre chuckled from his end of the line. "Well hello. You've gotten big."

For his part, Deimos decided it wasn't anything interesting and just decided to sit down on the desk and watch the monitor.

"I haven't taught you any manners," she chided, and then leaned over him and raised one of his paws and waved it. "You're supposed to say 'how do you do, Mr. Winner.'"

"I don't think he's interested," Quatre chuckled at her.

"I don't think so either," she brushed it off and then propped up her chin over the desk, scratching behind his ears with her free hand. "So, how much should I be worried about meeting the family?" she asked, thinking through the repercussions of attending this marriage ceremony.

For a second there was no answer, and Dorothy turned to his image on the screen. Quatre seemed to be a lost in thought, a curious look to his face.

"Quatre?" she prodded.

It jarred him out of it and he blinked at her. "I'm sorry, what? Family? I don't think you have anything to worry about. Me on the other hand…" he trailed out and gave her a cringe of a smile. "If you overhear things, please don't take offense to it."

Dorothy snickered at the idea. "Women are always so good at inventing love attachments. I'll try to be prepared." Turning back to her kitty, she smirked to herself. "But I don't believe it's your sisters that I'll consider the enemy."

"Enemy?" he questioned. "Why would you have an enemy there?"

Looking back at him, she narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn't want a repeat of that article getting out."

Quatre blinked at her, confused for a moment. "I don't follow."

"Someone took those pictures, and alerted a source that they felt would publish them. Considering the people in that room, I can only draw one conclusion on who it must have been."

For a second, the wheels ticked over in his head before his eyes widened at the insinuation. "They wouldn't."

Dorothy just waited, raising an eyebrow at his immediate assurance of that.

"…I mean, they'd know better," he tried to refute it, but she could tell he was losing the inner battle against the proof too. "They…. We should have stopped with the bowties," he whispered, finally coming to the same conclusion.

And she laughed at him, disturbing Deimos enough that he rose again and wandered away to the edge of her desk and hopped off to the floor. "I think the Fezzes Love Connection has over-stepped its bounds."

--

Although very agitated, Quatre was ignoring the guys for now.

The list of jewelry stores, and pawn and resell shops centered solely in the Shop-Topia district was almost four pages long. And it had sucked his attention for the rest of the day, and into this evening.

Most of the shops accepted email requests and Quatre had sent at least six hundred messages of the same note to every store or shop he could find. The rest would have to be done by phone, he assumed.

This was stupid, and he knew it. So he'd noticed immediately that her mother's ring was missing. He should have just made a little comment about her not wearing it and she would have told him then and there what happened. For all he knew, it was probably tucked into her luggage because she just got tired of wearing it. Maybe she didn't want to travel with it in case someone mugged her.

In which case Quatre would probably feel sorry for the mugger.

But something had hit him very hard and nagged at his heart about it when he'd noticed her hand was bare. He knew that ring meant something far deeper to her than just a symbol of her mother. Why, he wasn't sure, but he'd caught the glances she gave it during certain conversations, and the absent way she fiddled with it when she was upset.

Quatre had always known that there was something wrong there. Maybe not wrong, but something… different about it.

For it to just disappear one day, and especially after all of she'd been through recently….

No. He just had a feeling that it was still in this monstrous shopping district, and if he had to go there and walk through every single shop in the place to find it again, he would.

He hadn't really stopped to think about what he'd do when he found it. If Dorothy had lost it, she would have complained to him about it, he was sure. If it had been stolen, she would have told him too, and filed a police report. That left the idea that she had willingly thrown it away.

Her mother's wedding ring? No, she wouldn't have just tossed it into the garbage. Given it to someone else maybe, gifted it perhaps. But Catherine didn't know anything about it, so it obviously wasn't while they were together.

Catherine probably really did think he was insane by now. He'd cringed at the very idea, but called her to ask about it anyway. She'd noticed the ring of course, while they were traveling the first day actually, and had apparently thought it was very pretty. He somehow got the feeling that Dorothy hadn't told her that it was her mother's though.

That didn't really matter. It mattered that she had it when they got there, and it was gone again afterwards.

He just had the feeling that something was wrong, and every instinct in him told him to find it. Quatre had long since given up trying to fight naggings like this, he trusted them and they had never led him wrong.

So what to do afterwards was immaterial right now.

Checking his account again he had another eight messages back from his inquires. These people were certainly on top of wanting to supply a customer, he would give them credit for that. Searching through them for any clues, he came up empty on the first four and crossed them off his list. But he stopped when the fifth note popped up.

_Dear Sir. Thank you for your inquiry. Just this morning I was tasked with giving an appraisal to a group for a ring very much like you described. I believe their wish is to put this up for auction soon. Please contact me for further information._

Quatre had his phone dialing before he finished reading the contact information. The time difference, for once, was working in his favor. The woman that answered directed him to the appraisal department and a gentleman by the name of Mr. Champney.

"Jewelry appraisals," he answered.

"Hello, Mr. Champney. This is Quatre. I just received the note from you about a ring that I'm looking for you," he tried to jog his memory.

"Ah. The rose gold, alexandrite," the gentleman perked up. "Do you have a vid-line?"

"Yes," Quatre nodded to himself, anxious.

"Let me get it and I'll switch lines then. Be right back," he disconnected.

Quatre sat and waited, too afraid to get his hopes up this early that it could really be it. Of course, the idea that this particular dealer's shop had a specific jewelry appraiser's section told him that they must do a lot of business.

"Here we are," the image popped up as a middle-aged man sat down in front of him with a plastic bagged item. Glancing up at the screen, Mr. Champney seemed to stall for a minute as he noted his appearance.

Quatre was hoping not to be recognized, but it was possible that that was too much to hope for. "You said 'alexandrite,'" he moved the topic on. "Is that what the stone is?" he asked out of pure curiosity. "I never knew what it was."

The man nodded, a hint of a smile coming to his features. "It isn't something you come across too often anymore." Pulling the ring out of the plastic, he held it up to the camera. "Vid-lines never do anything justice, but is this what you were looking for?"

Quatre almost sighed in relief. "Yes," he nodded happily, noting the easily identifiable stone and the intricate setting. "That's it."

"I figured it had to be by your description. The octagon cut is almost never seen." He tucked the ring back into the plastic bag, adding a slip of paper with it. "That's only one of its unique attributes. Stunning piece," he man marveled. "Possibly the best I have seen in my years here."

Quatre didn't care. "You said that the owners were going to auction it," he skipped to the point. "Can you tell me who to contact? I'm willing to buy it outright."

The man tucked the bag off camera again with a little patient smile. "Son, you didn't know this was an alexandrite."

He blinked at him. "No. I never thought to ask what it was."

Folding his hands together on the table in front of him Mr. Champney made no effort to hide the fact that he was scrutinizing him. "This is a 3.2 karat, VVS-2 clarity, strong color-change alexandrite in a specialty cut. I would be inclined to guess that it is the only one of its kind in the Sphere. The mounting is rose gold, which isn't too exceptional, but it was hand carved specifically for this stone, which is exceptional," the man continued.

And Quatre sat and looked at him a bit oddly. "Yes, thank you. But that didn't really answer my question."

Mr. Champney gave him a little snicker. "Son, it took me all morning to figure out how to even appraise a piece like this. I'm telling you that you really have no idea what it is you're trying to buy."

For a second, he was a little shocked. But thinking of this from the other's point of view, he was speaking with someone who was obviously a teenager, and who really hadn't known what this ring was probably worth. And even though it was a little out of character, Quatre gave him a confident smile. "Mr. Champney, I wouldn't have gone through all this work to track it down if I didn't have the means to retrieve it. Now then, can you help me contact the owner?"

The man obviously wasn't convinced. "I can inform them that there is a potential buyer for it. It will be up to them whether to sell outright, or place it up for auction."

"Please tell them," he nodded. "And if they still decide to auction it, please inform me of when and where. I'll be there."

Mr. Champney nodded stiffly to him, and took down his phone number. "And who is it that I should say is interested?" he asked, still scribbling.

With a little smirk, he politely responded, "Quatre Raberba Winner."

--

"Uh, Mr. Winner?" Quatre turned in time to watch the little lady slip out of the office door and hold it open. "Please do come in."

"Thank you."

Corner House was a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. There were apparently four other branches of it throughout this colony, but this was the main headquarters, set just inside the gates to Shop-Topia.

Ushered back into a small, cramped little office the woman, Sister Elizabeth, motioned him to have a seat and quickly moved around the desk to hand him a plain cardboard jewelry box. "I have to say this has been a very interesting ordeal," she smiled.

He returned it with a chuckle and nodded. "Yes, it has." The woman sat down at the desk as he opened the box and took a look at the ring inside. He gave it a satisfied smile and then closed it securely again.

"You still won't allow us to properly thank your friend who donated this, will you?" she asked.

Quatre could only shake his head. "You said you found it in your donations box overnight."

"Yes," she nodded. "It was a very big surprise. At first we thought it had to be a mistake, so we checked with the police to see if it had been turned in as stolen, but when nothing came back we had it appraised at least to see what we were dealing with."

With a nod of understanding, he held the little box gently in his hands. "If the person who gave this to you didn't want to be known, I can't tell you," he apologized. "I know that this person had the best of intentions, but when I realized it was gone, I couldn't just allow it to be lost. I do really appreciate that you agreed to sell it privately."

The woman raised a hand to her mouth and shook her head as though fighting tears. "Mr. Winner, your offer was more than the appraisal value. You have to realize that this will meet our budget for the next year and a half."

Quatre didn't doubt that actually. Mr. Champney was not kidding when he, not so subtly, hinted that he couldn't afford it.

When the appraiser went back to Sister Elizabeth with an offer from a friend of the original owner, the director of Corner House had called him herself. She had been insistent that if he knew Dorothy, then she would give the ring back to her with nothing expected, thinking it had to be a mistake.

But Quatre knew very well it wasn't a mistake. He'd pieced together a good idea of what had happened, and he was sure that Dorothy had brought the ring here the night she'd "gone for a walk." _"I just… needed to get rid of something."_ It may have been a snap decision that she might end up regretting, but it wasn't a mistake.

Instead, once he knew what type of group he was talking to, he asked what the appraisal was and then rounded it up. At an open auction it could have gone for more or less, he wasn't sure, but he wanted it to be a fair price for what the organization could have gotten for it. And he had talked Sister Elizabeth into accepting it even though she would have just given it back to him.

The transfer was done three days ago, and now he finally had it in his hands. He wasn't going to take the chance of anything happening to it in shipment, and had scheduled a trip to the L1 resource stations for a couple days in order to make the trip functional.

Rising to his feet again, he gave the woman a smile and offered her his hand as she blinked back tears. "I know my friend wanted you to have it," he said as she stood to take his hand. "And I'll pass along your thanks some day," he promised her.

"God bless you both," she whispered, clasping his hand in both of hers for a moment and closing her eyes. "This could not have come at a more necessary time. God always inspires the best people for the task."

Quatre really didn't know how to respond to that, so he gave her a smile when she looked back up at him. "Thank you."

With a nod and a few pleasant goodbyes and wishes for a safe trip home, she let him go. Tucking the jewelry box into his pocket, he left his hand around it as he stepped out the door again. Pausing there, he took a glance around the area, wondering again why Dorothy had chosen to give it to this particular place.

What caught his eye was the donation box there next to the door. Looking at the ordinary thing, he tried to imagine what it was that she was trying to get rid of when she'd dropped it in.

Above the door, a sign read: _"If you bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted; Then light shall rise for you in the darkness, and the gloom shall become for you like midday." –Is. 58:10._ But carved over the box was a plaque written in a flamboyant cursive. _"…God loves a cheerful giver. –2Cr. 9:7."_

And for some reason he chuckled at such a cute sentiment in a place like this. Walking away, he couldn't help but think that Dorothy probably hadn't been all that cheerful when she dropped the little ring down the shoot. But having it tucked in his pocket certainly made him feel better, and knowing how much it had helped this place was more than enough to make him forget how much he'd just spent to get it back.

Why it had struck him so hard so fast, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't help the demand he felt to find it and get it back. Now all he had to do was figure out if he should return it to her or not.

--

"_You're in love with a challenge."_

Dorothy squeezed the rest of the water from the ends of her hair again and then hung the towel up to dry. Leaving her bathroom she left her hair down, the wet strands tickling her legs past were the oversized t-shirt stopped.

Walking into her bedroom, she watched the dark windows for a moment. For some reason the little memory hadn't left her this week. Turning a look around the room, she tried to figure out what it was that kept drawing her attention back to it, but there was nothing here that did it.

Although she did note with a tired eye that her whole room was done in nothing but beige and dark blue. When had she gotten so boring?

Annoyed with herself, she slipped out of her room again with a yawn, intent on getting a drink of water before she turned in. But once into the hallway, she paused again and then slipped across the little sitting area to the guest room opposite hers. Stepping just inside the doorway, she looked out through the dark windows here too.

It was basically the same view, but whenever she did this she could always see snow lining the edges of the lake below. For some reason time had stopped in this room since the last time Quatre had been here. Why she kept coming back to this, she didn't know, but it had stopped annoying her by now.

Maybe she really wanted to figure it out.

Leaning against the doorframe she idly counted the time difference between them. She had no reason to, she just did. He'd probably be getting off work about now.

What was her problem these days? She sounded like an idiot even to herself.

Sighing hopelessly she turned to head downstairs, when she stopped and then turned back. Laid over the bed was the dark red bedspread that had been in this room for as long as she remembered. But if this was the room where she was reminded of winter….

Dorothy returned to her bedroom and promptly tore her blue comforter off her bed and dragged it across the hall. Not even turning on the light to see what she was doing, she stripped the red bedspread off and replaced it. Then bunching it up, she carried it back to her room and tossed it onto her bed, remaking it again.

Standing back to look at it, Dorothy chuckled to herself. It didn't match a single thing in here, and she loved it.

--

"Sometimes when we are generous in small, barely detectable ways it can change someone else's life forever." - Margaret Cho


	53. Chapter 53

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 53 

Alexandrite, 3.2 karats. VVS-2 clarity. Rose gold, 7.73 grams. Finger size: 6.25. Appraisers notes on condition of setting: Excellent. Proof of sizing increase adjustments. Gold was added, not stretched. No deduction to value.

Apparently Dorothy's mother hadn't been a size six and a quarter.

Quatre sat, idly staring at the ring that was sitting on top of the piano in front of him. He'd found an actual ring box for it, discarding the cardboard one from the appraisal's shop. It just looked better against the black, velvet-lined box.

He'd memorized every facet of the stone and each twirling crevice of the mounting. He'd even taken it in to work one evening and run it through a 3D structural scanner, giving him a complete digital map of the thing.

He'd slowly decided that he was just plain bored these nights.

Quatre had piles of things that needed his attention and various things he'd promised to do for this or that, but they weren't insistent enough to stay on his mind very long. He'd leave work at whatever time of the evening he felt like. Usually whenever he realized that he was last person left in the building and the quiet turned eerie on him.

Not that the manor was any livelier. Considering it was just him, he'd stopped having any of the staff stay in the house full-time months ago. Most days he didn't even see his house manager or his butler. He didn't suppose they minded.

But the quiet got unnerving here too. Quatre varied his nights either here in the music room, still attempting to pour out his unrequited love for a woman into a coherent sonata, or searching through cupboards and closets for pieces of information about his deceased parents and the unfortunate circumstances of his birth.

He needed better hobbies.

But, he supposed tonight all he was going to do was sit here and stare at a ring and waste enough time so that he could turn in and let sleep waste the rest of the night for him. It all seemed kind of pointless for some reason these days.

She must have been a very different woman, Dorothy's mother. He half-heartedly noted to the jewelry piece that he'd never asked what her name was. He supposed "Mrs. Catalonia" would be sufficient considering he was sitting here fascinated with her wedding ring. But she must have been quite different from her daughter.

This just wasn't what he would picture for Dorothy's wedding ring. For one thing, the rose gold was wrong. It was pretty, and different, but everything of Dorothy's was yellow gold. The mark of her marriage wouldn't be anything less.

The stone was the same way. It was different and, as he had found out first hand, very expensive, but the whole thing just didn't look like a wedding band. Had that been the point? Maybe her parents had decided on something different for some specific purpose? Quatre didn't suppose he'd ever know.

He liked the novelty of it though. There was nothing typical about his dear Lady and it was obvious that a cleaver design like this would be fitting to her. And it was admittedly a very pretty stone, but it was relatively dark. He didn't think it really fit Dorothy's pale features quite right.

Alexandrite. He'd never even heard of it before Dorothy had taken an interest in the samples of the similar stone they'd found in a random mining asteroid and was now on display at the museum….

His mind quickly flashed through that day, and their walk through the Space Mining Museum. The far paler colored stone whose chemical makeup was closely matched to Alexandrite. And then to that night when he'd finally realized that he'd fallen in love with her….

Jumping to his feet, he snatched the ring box from the top of the piano, the lid snapping shut in his hand as he stuffed it into his pocket and almost ran for the door. Maybe all of his hobbies were pointless at the moment, but he'd just have faith that they'd pay off in the end.

Moving to his office, he used the remote login to his server at work and brought up their engineering software he'd saved her mother's ring in. This seemed like a far less sensible use for a design program like this, but he was too busy toying with alternations to care.

* * *

Dorothy paced the length of her house from the front door to the back patio, a pen tucked behind her ear and her lips silently following along with the book she was reading. Tomorrow morning would be the moment of truth and she was in cram mode. There was no way in hell that she was walking out of that testing center without a passing grade on her bar exams.

Her home phone rang again in the background but she ignored it once more. When she finished with this study booklet she'd let herself relax and get to the messages that were piling up on her machine for the past three days.

But when the house phone stopped, her crowded brain noticed that her satellite phone started. Pausing she listened to the ring a second before it caught her full attention. Rounding back towards the staircase she ran for it, pivoting herself around the banister and up four or five steps before she realized the sound wasn't coming from her bedroom like she'd thought.

Backtracking quickly down the stairs and around into the dining room, she sprinted into her office before she realized she still wasn't tracking the sound right. Back in the dining room she stopped, trying to gage the direction of the ring and picking the pen out of her hair where it had gotten tangled during her mad dashes.

Finally getting a lead on it, she turned towards the living room just before the ring stopped. With a huffed curse, Dorothy quickly went through the living room, searching for the stupid phone. Turning up nothing, she moved back to the kitchen and still came up empty. A single beep sounded again, noting that there was a new message for her and she once again swiveled back to look into the living room.

Doing a more thorough job this time she scanned the tables and furniture, finding nothing out of place. Deimos sat perched on his favorite spot on the arm of the sofa, watching her in kitty amusement obviously as she frowned at him and continued to pace the room. "Well, what did I do with it?" she asked herself.

With a sigh, she moved to the nearest extension of her house phone and called herself, letting it ring before she finally following the sound enough to spot it. With a sigh she hung up her phone and walked over to where Deimos was still sitting, just looking up at her.

When she approached he gave her a quiet little mew and Dorothy swiped the phone off the end table right in front of him. "You could have told me," she hissed at him.

Flipping her phone open, she quickly told it to redial the last number that had called, still giving her confused kitty a dirty look. Setting her prep book aside she scratch him behind the ears anyway. "It's a good thing you're cute," she scolded him.

"Hel—Well, thank you," came the answer from the other end of the line.

Rolling her eyes at the phone she sighed. "Not you."

Quatre gave her a disheartened, "Oh," for it.

With a laugh, she shook her head and stepped around the table and flopped down on the sofa, lounging against the other side. Deimos decided she'd make a better pillow obviously and jumped down to pounce on her stomach and settle himself in again. "Between the two of you, I don't see how I get anything done."

"Two of us?" Quatre asked.

"You and fuzz butt," she clarified, using her impolite name for the cat.

"I'm not sure I appreciate being compared to your pet," he snickered at her.

Dorothy smirked to herself as she petted the purring cat that was lounging against her. "There are a number of odd similarities."

"I don't want to know," he vocally brushed it off. "Did you get my message?"

"No, it took me this long to find my phone. Deimos was hiding it from me," she accused the oblivious cat.

"What? Now he hates me so much I can't even call you?" he grumbled.

With a chuckle she nodded to herself. "Maybe. But what was the message?"

"Timing for our arrival next week."

With a happy hum she closed her eyes and laid her head back. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be ready."

* * *

"Hello?" he groggily answered. Quatre barely unburied his face from the pillow to answer the phone. He honestly needed to get Dorothy a clock set exclusively to his time zone.

"Ask me what I did today."

"What?" he half-hearted asked.

"No, no. Take a guess," she, quiet happily, responded.

Was she actually being… bubbly? "You created a devious plot to make sure I didn't get a full night's sleep?"

There was a momentary pause from the other end and then a humorless chuckle, "Oops."

"I think I'm getting used to it," he responded anyway. Rolling over, he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up enough to listen to her. "So, what _did_ you do today?"

"I, Master Winner, have completed and passed my bar exams," she haughtily informed him.

"Really?" he happily responded. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she sighed with relief. "That's all. I just needed to brag. You can go back to sleep now."

With a laugh he agreed with that.

* * *

Quatre quickly exited the space plane, lowering the ramp for the others as they landed outside the Magaunac home base. And the majority of the village was turned out to see the bride and groom-to-be arrive.

Stepping to the side, he let the early-afternoon heat seep into him. He may not have grown up here, but the first blast of the desert atmosphere always felt somehow welcoming.

Manul ushered Nashita down the ramp as cheers went up from the quickly approaching crowd. Quatre could only chuckle as they moved off to meet the crowd of well-wishers. Behind them, the rest of the guys that were with them exited the plane and chased after the couple.

Iria and Dorothy brought up the rear of the group and he saw it immediately when Dorothy walked into the wall of heat outside the atmosphere of the shuttle.

Stopping at the top of the ramp she squinted into the bright daylight playing over the sand dunes in the opposite direction. "I did not bring enough sunscreen for this," she mumbled, shielding her eyes with a hand.

Iria laughed at her as she paced down the ramp, likewise taking a look around. "It won't be so bad," she encouraged.

"Says the one at least genetically able to tan," Dorothy snipped back. "I'm going to be peeling by nightfall."

"You will if you say here all day," Quatre returned with a chuckle at her plight and offered her hand to help her down.

Dorothy sniffed at him for it. Instead of taking the offer she took her luggage strap off her shoulder and obnoxiously dropped it into his open hand instead.

Iria laughed at them and shook her head before heading off towards the waiting group of greeters. His sister had been doing that a lot during this trip.

* * *

The Maguanac base was not exactly what Dorothy had been picturing. For one thing, there was definite lack of air conditioning. Granted inside the buildings and out of the sun the atmosphere was more like a cellar no matter the time of day, except without a drop of moisture to the air.

She didn't bring enough lotion on this trip either. These men needed to learn to inform their guests better beforehand.

Dorothy threw a glare at the back of Quatre's head for the thought but figured she couldn't really chide him for it. Instead she followed along as their group wandered through the tunnel of a hallway through barrack-styled rooms.

That was the only thing that resembled the militaristic qualities of the prominent men of this village. Otherwise there were no visible signs that this place had housed a corp. of elite mobile suit soldiers.

She realized they were in a time of peace, and she was pretty sure that the mobile suits themselves had been destroyed, but this was just too… civilian. There should at least be indications of what had been here, along with communications equipment and various other technological advantages that would be necessary to maintain a militant entity.

This was the cover.

The thought echoed in her scrutiny as she continued along. Why she felt like she should be mapping the area for reconnaissance, she didn't know. Old habits she supposed. Even though technically she'd never had much use for the intelligence gathering techniques she'd been taught.

Dorothy supposed she was simply disappointed not to be able to see the working "machine" of a militant group again. It had been a long time and she was a bit nostalgic.

They were shown to rooms, and asked to double up in order to fit the massive amount of family that was scheduled to arrive in the next few days. Nashita was given a place of honor—completely on the opposite end of the building from her betrothed—at the end of the hall. Since they were basically the only other female guests already here, Dorothy and Iria were placed in a tiny little room a door down.

Once they'd been assigned the guys turned down to the other end of the building and quickly claimed their rooms as well, which was far more amusing to watch.

"Why am I always stuck with you?"

"You like it, and you know it."

"You can't smell. That's why you're stuck with him."

"Hey!"

"My nose ain't that bad."

"You two still need a nightlight? Pick a room!"

"Oh no you don't! Back your ass out!"

"Got here first."

Dorothy shook her head in dismay as Iria quietly stood behind her and peeking over her shoulder. "Are they always like this?" the older woman asked.

"Probably," she sighed. Turning she watched Quatre as he just stood in the hall with a half-amused, half-disgusted expression on his face beside them. "Aren't you going to enter the arena?" she teased.

"No. I usually just wait until the carnage dies down," he muttered.

"Come on, Master Quatre!" Abdul happily threw an arm around his shoulders and practically dragged the younger man towards an open doorway.

Dorothy cringed in sympathy for him as they disappeared into the room. "Oh, brave soul," she vocally saluted her soon-to-be-deaf friend.

"Huh? Why?" Iria asked.

Looking back at the blond behind her, Dorothy shook her head sadly. "Abdul has a _slight_ snoring problem."

"Slight?" someone else in the hallway picked up on that.

The rest of the hall thundered with laughter.

* * *

The compound consisted of square, adobe rooms all bunched together and on top of each other. Dorothy hadn't figured out yet how to distinguish one "house" from another. They piled up against a West wall of sandstone and then crept towards a large square open area in the middle. Across this grand catchall market were larger stucco buildings that were obviously the community gathering places.

Still nothing that seemed promising though. The buildings were as permanent as anything seemed to be out here, but built only for necessity. The group was not nomadic, and apparently this was one of the few villages in this area of the sandpit they were in.

So then, where did a group like this hide a base and mobile suit hanger bay? There was nothing solider than sandstone in the entire area, and she knew very well that any idiot of a scanner tech. could spot formations and machinery hidden under that.

What mirage was the desert hiding this under?

Dorothy had tagged along with Iria and Nashita on the tour of the village, which included a welcoming party by the local women. And judging by the, seemingly inappropriate, amount of bare skin being shown Dorothy figured that this place was not predominately Muslim. How did these women not burn to crisp out here?

The central "hall" was going to be the main focus of the celebration apparently, and Nashita was already in wedding design mode. Iria was dotingly taking notes and generally just nodding to humor her little sister. The collection of "wives," as they introduced themselves as, were likewise giving suggestions to help out.

Dorothy was consciously deciding there was no way she'd be getting married in a dusty, old, open sided, community hall.

Turning away from the wedding frenzy, she took in the sights of the square as people milled around, sitting close to the shadows in the afternoon sun.

Hot. Even the wind that stirred through the open buildings felt heated. It was like being melted with a hairdryer.

She didn't bring enough antiperspirant on this trip either.

Dabbing her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt, she turned back to the ceremony preparations. Quatre had cautioned her to keep covered up during the day to keep the sun off her skin, but she was becoming a bit envious of the women wandering around here in little wraparound tops and baggy pants or oddly tied skirts.

Although, Dorothy also enviously noted that she didn't have the long waistline or the deep skin tone to pull that off. With a sigh she decided this may not have been such a good idea. She wasn't used to heat and she wasn't very good at being pleasant while she was uncomfortable.

"Melting yet?"

Turning over her shoulder she nodded hopelessly to a girl probably only a couple years older than her. "Not used to this," she admitted.

"Takes a little bit for most to adjust," the other smiled back. "A note of warning though," the girl pointed at her and then pointed at herself with the other hand, "tie your hair back."

Dorothy watched as the other turned around to show how her hip-length black hair was collected and banded in four different places down her back with little red ribbons.

Spinning back around, the woman winked at her. "Trust me, it's not only hot, but the sand takes forever to brush out on windy days. And it's always windy out here," she giggled at herself.

Dorothy nodded, figuring the woman knew what she was talking about. But before she could really thank her for the advice, she was off again, her hair swinging after her as she walked around the room to greet a few of the other locals.

Well, perhaps Dorothy needed to try to help with some organizing too to get her mind off her plight. Wiping the sweat from her face again, she forced herself not to grumble about it and headed into the fray.

* * *

Over the next day or so the entire Maguanac Corp. would be assembled at the village again. For the first time since the war, all forty and Commander Sada'ul would be present together.

And so the festivities were kicked off in typical fashion.

"Get him!"

"Go for it!"

"Jab to the left!"

"Knock him down!"

"Move! Move!"

A typical sparing match was anything but typical with these guys. Quatre found himself sitting on the floor next to where Manul had been adamantly forced to sit and watch the bout. The groom-to-be was officially out of action from now until after their honeymoon in the traditional grace period allowed for newlyweds.

Basically he was only forced out of this bout to ensure no accident kept him from completing the marriage contract… or his honeymoon activities.

Quatre decided that thoughts like that would settle better if they didn't include his sister.

But the sparing challenge in front of him wasn't keeping his attention really. His thoughts kept drifting to Dorothy. The group of women had claimed her and his sisters before he could protest. He was sure that they would be looked after and escorted around the grounds. Not to mention that Nashita would have a lot of things to do before she was locked away during her preparations.

But… well, he was fairly certain that Dorothy would bore easily around the usually mild-mannered women of the village. That, and he was a little worried about her acclimating to this environment. He could just hear her: "The entire world and you people live in the sandbox."

"Ah! Here we are," a chipper voice began from behind him. "Are you ready, son?"

Quatre turned to see Commander Sada'ul slap his hands down on Manul's shoulders from behind them. With a chuckle he watched his soon to be brother-in-law cringe and then flash a smile back up at their jolly leader.

"I think so, Commander," he replied.

With a sigh, the elder man shook his head. "Marriage ain't for the faint of heart, son. Get some gumption. Woman's going to walk all over you at this rate," he teased.

"Too late," Manul muttered.

Quatre couldn't help but laugh, knowing exactly how true that was. Nashita could be rather opinioned from time to time, and Manul would teasingly argue with her. Not that it did him any good.

"Quatre, my boy," Sada'ul turned to him with a friendly smile as well. "Sitting this out too?" he chuckled. "This group's getting old, son. Go keep them on their toes."

He gave the man a confused look at being called out like that, but obediently rose to his feet. "I know better than to call anyone here old, Sir," he returned with a smile.

"Yes, everyone else takes offense to that for some reason," the elder man chuckled at his own expense. But with a shooing motion he pointed Quatre towards the mat. "Give us a good showing."

"Sir," he nodded respectfully and slipped through the others to the mat. Still confused, Quatre shrugged it off. The others round them seemed to shrug to themselves as well and took to cheering him on instead.

Ahmed stood waiting for the next opponent, his breathing heavy from his last round. Accepting the practice sticks, Quatre took his start position and waited for his friend to catch his breath enough to begin the round.

Ahmed came out strong, as usual. The shorter man didn't have the speed many possessed, but he made up for it in brute strength. Quatre held the exact opposite advantage and dodged three attacks before quickly circling around to his back. Unable to defend, Quatre easily poked him in the back a couple times to prod him out of the ring, taking the match easily from the winded challenger.

The calls from the other men were a little too brutally honest as Ahmed bent over a minute, trying to catch his breath. Quatre waited, settling himself for the next opponent.

He was finding his place with the others still. Hand-to-hand combat was not something he'd learned early in life. His training had come almost exclusively from the men gathered here. During the war it was a few crash courses. Afterwards, he'd had the time to sharpen skills that he wasn't sure he had felt the need to hone before.

He wasn't in training any longer.

He would never match up with the best of the fighters in this group, but he knew each man's tactics by now and could predict their moves. Being taught by such an array of fighters also provided him with a far most extensive array of techniques to draw from.

And Quatre enjoyed his unofficial rank as the best strategist among them.

The over-confident pep talk served its purpose. His second opponent fell with a quick jab to the rib cage that would have been lethal with an actual blade. His third bout proved much more physical until he managed to get the man's legs out from under him, incapacitating him long enough to take the advantage.

Quatre backed off from his start position while another accepted the painted rods. He wiped the sweat from his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt and un-tucked the material from the baggy pair of fatigues he'd borrowed from Abdul. He'd noticed earlier that he'd basically outgrown the t-shirts and clothes he had stashed here at the base.

Catching his breath, he forced himself to focus again. He had a chance of surviving this round too depending on who—maybe not.

Quatre glanced up to gage his new opponent and his ideas of being able to make a fifth match died. Auda stood with the double sticks in one hand and his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk on the man's face was enough to let him know that he wasn't about to let Quatre walk away with a win over him this time.

He'd managed it last time, but only due to a couple slipups on his friend's part.

He once again wiped the sweat away with the other sleeve this time and took his position, holding the sticks crossed in front of him in a defensive stance. Auda would come out first in full force. If Quatre let the larger man push him back Auda would squeeze him out of room to maneuver and pummel him until either his sticks fell, or he did.

Setting his stance wide, he was ready when Auda came straight for him, one stick raised to strike, the other kept close to protect his chest.

Too fast!

Quatre dodged almost too late. Auda was left-handed, giving only a slight advantage if you were specifically looking for it. But Quatre had underestimated how quickly his opponent would close the distance.

He slipped left, sidestepping the initial swing of the raised stick, but couldn't escape the backhanded swipe that followed as Auda pivoted to track him. Raising his arm, Quatre managed to save his neck as he took the painted rod to his right shoulder instead.

The slap was audible. Quatre stumbled a step back before rounding to keep his ground despite the spasm that went down his arm. He gasped in pain but gnashed his teeth together, backpedaling quickly to gain some space between them.

Quatre saw the momentary hesitation in Auda as his friend watched him, concern flashing across his dark features.

Numbness crept down his arm as he readied himself quickly, tightening his grip on the stick so he wouldn't drop it. It'd only be a second. As he breathed through the ball of fire that erupted in his shoulder, he stood his ground. Just a second. It would dissipate.

A second was all he got. Assured that he was going to continue, Auda came at him again, aiming lower this time.

There was nothing like a threat of pain like that again to make his feet jump faster this time. But his movements were sluggish, the exertion had taken its toil, and his shoulder burned. The rest of this match was going to be left-handed.

Dodging out of the way only delayed the attack as Auda pivoted far too fast for Quatre to keep up with. He managed to block three shots aimed for his ribs, fighting purely out of blind instinct, before a smack to his side sent him to one knee.

His sticks hit the mat as Quatre braced himself up with both hands and merely concentrated on breathing for minute.

Auda was beside him instantly, one hand on his unwounded shoulder. "Master Quatre?" he worriedly asked.

"All right," he answered in a pant for air. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" someone else overhead asked.

That hit must have sounded as bad as it felt. "OK," he tried again, still not raising his head to find who asked.

Shaking it off as quickly as he could, he tried not to grimace as he picked up the sticks again and rose slowly to his feet. Holding them out in his left hand for the next opponent to take.

It was then, when he wiped the sweat from his face, that he took a glance around at the rather quiet group. He was on his feet and conscious, what were they so worried about? Glancing at his right sleeve he made sure he wasn't bleeding.

Again he glanced around at the men surrounded the mat and then at Auda and the couple who were making sure he was all right. Finally one of them nodded in determination, and took the sticks from him.

Clearing his senses and doing his best to ignore the injury, he clapped Auda on the shoulder instead and gave his friend a smile to assure him. The other nodded solemnly, but glanced behind them as Quatre turned to leave.

He didn't dare raise a hand to hold the throbbing bruise, knowing he'd be watched from the corner of every eye in the room for the next ten minutes. Instead he flexed his arm a couple times and rubbed his thumb around the tips of his fingers just to make sure he had feeling in everything.

As soon as he stepped off the mat though, he looked up to pick his way through the crowd back to his seat when he was met with a rather wide path through his friends. At the end stood Commander Sada'ul, who stood with his hands behind his back and his lips pursed in a worriedly thoughtful expression. Manul sat in front of him a little wide-eyed.

Beside them stood Dorothy.

Mentally, Quatre cursed.

With raised eyebrow at him, her infamous smirk slowly rose. "Bravo."

The rest of the cowards in the practice room laughed.

* * *

"No one bothered to warn me," Quatre half-heartedly grumbled.

"Ah, why do you think Auda was trying so hard?" Abdul laughed at him as the two returned to their room to change again. "You were on a roll until that hit."

Quatre paused as he sat down on his bed to stiffly remove his shoes. "When did she get there?" he blinked over at his friend.

Glancing over his shoulder, he flashed a smile back at him. "Not sure. She slipped in during your run some time."

"What?"

With a laugh, Abdul turned to him and walked over to look down at him. Over his sunglasses, he winked at him. "She came in after Command Sada'ul."

What? Then he…. The Commander had intentionally….

"I thought she'd go racing to your side all weepy-eyed at the end there. No such luck though," Abdul gave him a sympathetic shrug.

With a chuckle, Quatre shook his head. "Not her style. We're probably lucky she didn't try to take the sticks herself."

"I think the Commander caught that too. That's why he called it off so quickly."

Well, maybe he hadn't screwed up so royally in front of her after all.

* * *

Dorothy had mapped the structures of the compound as well as possible considering everything in the place was sand colored. Checking most of the community rooms, she couldn't find the group of women she had originally been with and decided to head back to their room instead.

Commander Sada'ul had greeted her warmly, knowing her instantly on fame alone she assumed. The short, pudgy man was not what she had been expecting as the leader of this militia. He did however seemingly know absolutely everyone, and genuinely seemed to be well loved and respected.

And he was quirky enough that Dorothy genuinely liked him as well. Such an odd character. He was fun.

But her mind didn't hold the image long. Without her consent it drifted back yet again to Quatre.

There was just something about a man that looked good sweaty.

Dorothy drifted down the hall in warm little haze, replaying the battles. His reflexes had quickened since she'd seen them last. The determined fire that lit his eyes in the heat of battle erased the innocence that they normally held.

It was the perfect example of how intent could fundamentally change him. The duality of his nature was impossible to explain to someone who had never seen it. Those that knew his concerned and personable side would never believe he was capable of such physical violence.

She would have loved to have seen him in combat. To have actually seen his face while he piloted. Dorothy carried a number of regrets from their ill-fated dual aboard _Libra_, but the most cynical one was that if she had foregone using the ZERO system she could have seen him fight instead of reducing him down to movements and projections through the helmet.

With a low hum to herself she sauntered down the hallways, feeling her blood stir. Watching a prizefight was always a thrill. The pride and the egos always matched each other far better than the abilities. The exhilaration was not for man, or side, or cause. It was for the ambition, the drive, the determination.

Quatre Raberba Winner: the passion fighter. The idealist and martyr. Oh every soldier fought for something. But Quatre was a man driven—possessed some would probably say. The thrill was in the turn, the change, the sacrifice of gentleness to power.

Dorothy opened the door to their room and closed it behind her before she allowed the sadistic giggle. Watching the bouts this afternoon had brought back her more appreciative side apparently.

But there was no sign of Iria here either. She much have returned at some point though. A box was set on the little nightstand between the two single beds that wasn't there before. When she noticed it was open, Dorothy stepped over to take a peek, finding a little note tucked right on top.

_Beats tangles._

What? She looked at that oddly for a second and then glanced and Iria's luggage that hadn't been moved since they'd arrived. Maybe this wasn't hers then. With a shrug, Dorothy moved the note to find a little set of ponytail holders and a set of thin yellow ribbons.

Oh. The woman from before then. Well, how thoughtful.

Chuckling at the blatant note, Dorothy rummaged through her bags for her hair brush and quickly tried adding a few of the holders down the length of her hair as she'd seen the other girl do. It didn't seem to look nearly as cute and she finally just left it. The ribbons also proved to be impossible for her to tie by herself so she only added one over the end holder.

Finished, she freshened up, added extra antiperspirant, and switched to a thinner shirt. Repacking her items, she found herself still humming gleefully. Her thoughts replayed the battles, over analyzing everything from his obvious scrutiny of each new opponent, to his ability to change tactics, to the way his t-shirt had stretched a little too snugly across his chest.

Stopping herself, Dorothy took a covert look around, apparently to make sure that no one had overheard that guilty thought. And then she chuckled at herself with a shrug. Alright, so the man really needed to get out of the vests and dress shirts more often. Was that such a bad thing to think?

She should probably be ashamed of herself for these thoughts when he'd obviously been hurt during that last round.

Leaving the room to go hunting for the girls again, she glanced down the other hallway towards Quatre and Abdul's room. Maybe she should check to see if he was all right?

Not now, she decided. If there was one thing she knew with absolute certainty it was that men always had trouble admitting something hurt in front of the other guys. She'd check on it later when she could steal an honest answer out of him.

She was certain that he'd be nursing that for while. The hit was enough to make everyone in room worry, herself included.

Dorothy had found it a little odd that when he'd drawn himself back to a fighting stance, and ready to continue, over half of the men in the room and thrown a glance in her direction instead of his. Were they expecting her to do something about it? She wasn't a nurse. These men were professionals. She had no fears that Auda would take advantage of a known injury.

Quatre was in a friendly match. She was well aware that he knew his limits and wouldn't push himself farther that than. He wasn't stupid and he wasn't one to let blind ego blur his senses.

Had they expected something less from her? The Maguanacs should know by now that she was intimate with the battlefield. Had they expected her to faint at the sight of a minor injury? Swoon at the thought of her, somehow group-appointed, champion hitting the mat?

If she'd believed anyone would have actually taken her on, she would have taken the sticks from Quatre herself.

Danged chivalry. She'd never get an honest fight out of anyone here.

Maybe that was a good thing. She could over-inflate her own sense of her combat skills all she wanted, but a hit like that probably would have thrown her to the floor.

Exiting the building into the blast furnace again, she gave herself a smirk as she looked around at the rooftops. It would be Quatre who'd race to her side all worried and panicked.

Dorothy tried not to laugh out loud at the image.

"Do I dare ask what you find amusing?"

Looking closer at the neighboring clumps of houses and buildings, she continued to stroll leisurely along, letting Quatre trail after her. "I don't think you'd find the humor in it," she chuckled back over her shoulder at him. Where he'd popped up from she didn't know.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

Pausing her walk, she glanced back at him, finding him alone behind her and changed into an infamous pink dress shirt and a white vest. Although, glancing around at the clusters of people now wandering through the lengthy shadows of the village, she figured he was actually on the same color scheme as everyone else here. "I think I figured out the pastels on you," she reasoned out loud.

"It's a good idea to wear reflective colors if you're unfamiliar with the terrain," he advised, sounding like a textbook. "Or in this case, in the middle of a desert."

Somehow she still doubted that was why he wore so much pink. But shrugging it off, she turned to look at him. "So how's the shoulder?"

"Fine," he nodded, giving her a slightly embarrassed smile.

Dorothy merely raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

With a defeated sigh, Quatre shook his head and then continued on to walk around her. "Swollen, bruised and still hurts. Happy?" he grumblingly asked.

Chuckling, she turned and trailed along with him. "Now why would I be happy that you're in pain?"

"No, just that you have to make me admit it."

"Confession is good for the soul," she happily mumbled, analyzing his sleeve as she walked next to him. Not finding any telltale markings of bandages underneath she reached over and gently poked him.

Quatre stopped instantly and turned to give her a warning look not to try that again.

Blinking at him innocently, she purposefully laced her hands behind her back. "Shouldn't you have some ice on that or something?"

Purposefully looking around them a little, he didn't even bother to voice the obvious that there wasn't an ice cube in a hundred miles from here. "I'll be fine," he stated instead.

"Out of the whole world, why do these bloody people live in a sandbox?" she grumbled at the implication and turned to continue on.

She stopped when she heard Quatre crack up laughing behind her.

Turning again, she graced him with a confused look as he tried to bite down the laughter. "And what are you laughing at?"

Shaking his head, he gave her a smile. "I don't think you'd find the humor in it," he threw back at her.

Apparently that shoulder didn't hurt enough. Letting him take his little victory, she groaned and turned to walk off.

"Dorothy," he tried calling her back. She ignored him. "Actually, Miss Dorothy," he chuckled, following her, "I was wondering if you were free for a little while?"

She stopped. He only went formal with her these days when he had something up his sleeve. And she usually enjoyed it when he was up to something. "That's a silly question, isn't it? On your soil, I'm rather at your disposal, aren't I?" She turned over her shoulder to gage the smile he was giving her.

With a nod, he didn't argue that point for once. "Then there's something I'd like you to see."

* * *

"You know, usually when a gentleman steals a lady off alone with nothing but a blanket and a picnic basket it's a little more… romantic," she sarcastically grumbled as she used her shirt collar to wipe the sweat off her face again.

"You can't say you've ever been taken out to watch the sand dunes before," Quatre tried, regardless of her mood.

"I can't say I've ever not thrown my drink in a man's face just because I don't want to waste the water before either." Just for emphasis she took the last swig from her bottle before she tossed it back into the basket behind them.

"It's not that bad," he tried reasoning with her again. "The sun's half down, you're not going to burn, I promise."

Dorothy sighed, and leaned back on her arms. Trying once again—purely for his sake—she stared at the horizon in an attempt to figure out what he found so special about a desert sunset. There were no clouds, no pretty scenery, nothing. It was just a big band of orange across the desolate sands in front of them. The heat shimmers made it seem to wiggle along as the sun descended, casting shadows along the little dunes and the juts of the random rocks out there.

"I don't get it," she finally gave up.

Quatre sighed, and she thought she heard him mumble something under his breath. "We're here, we're set, so suffer," he grumbled at her.

She had every intention of giving him a nasty look for a tone of voice like that, but she ended up chuckled at him instead. The dear man didn't lose his overly polite attitude that often in front of her, so she figured she should probably enjoy it. "Fine."

They weren't actually out here for a picnic. The only thing in the basket had been the blanket and a couple bottles of water, which apparently traveled everywhere with anyone doing anything outside of the village proper.

That was probably a necessity.

Bored with the whole excuse for "sight-seeing" as Quatre had tried to wittily put it, she turned again to look at him instead. "How's the shoulder?" she asked again.

"Sore," he answered honestly this time. "It's just bruised."

Getting an ounce of energy, she turned to sit on her knees facing him. "Let me see."

Quatre turned from his unnatural devotion the dust-clouded horizon. "What?"

"Let me see," she stated again.

"No," he flat out refused her and turned away again.

What a grump. Either his shoulder was bothering him more than he was letting on, or she'd insulted his long forgotten Arabic heritage. "You haven't had anyone look at it, have you?" she retaliated.

"Dorothy, it's a bruise," he reminded her.

"You're not taking care of it," she harped.

"Neither are you," he specifically informed her.

She was sure that the look he threw at her was supposed to be withering and make her drop it, but there was far too much of a smile in his eyes for it to work right. Quatre had never learned the art of pretending to be mad very well. His loss. "Fine." She turned back to sitting forward again and raised her knees to cross her arms around them. "Although Iria is a medical doctor, isn't she? You'd be better off having her look at it."

There was a momentary pause. "You're going to blackmail me?"

Dorothy turned to regard him. "Now, how would my sincere concern be construed as blackmail?" she asked, mockingly aghast at the idea.

Quatre rolled his eyes. "You're threatening to tell on me to my sister. I can handle a few bumps and bruises," he bitterly added despite himself. "I think I'm old enough." What did he have to do to get her to see that?

"Well, that mothering side of me and all," she obliviously waved it off.

"I'm familiar with it," he returned. Yes, all too familiar with it. It was the only side he ever got out of her.

He got a snort in response.

He shouldn't be bitter just because his little plan had gone sour. When did she ever make it easy on him? Threatening to tell his sister. That figured. "Actually, this brings up a point that I hadn't thought to mention," he slightly frowned to himself at the thought.

Dorothy turned to regard him when he glanced over at her.

"The majority of my sisters don't know what I did during the war," he softly admitted.

She started, looking at him oddly for a second before she seemed to realize he was serious. Finally with a shrug she shook her head. "So how are you explaining the Mags?"

"The village has its own traditions and 'Academy training' will explain most things," he pointed out to her. "I met up with them through work, for anyone that asks. I doubt I get a lot of questions I can't dodge, but you may find yourself needing to as well."

"Why me?"

With a little sigh, he fought back the cringe he felt. "My sisters are going to be… curious."

The dramatic, "Ah," was expected.

Nothing was setting itself up right in this situation. The more anyone outside hinted or prodded at her, the more Dorothy would resist—and resent—being pressed towards him. Quatre himself wasn't all that interested in the help either. When all was said and done, he was the one that needed to convince her to let them become more.

Some days it was all he wanted, all he longed for. Other times he was still content with her as a friend. Not that they were exactly a good example of pure friendship….

Didn't matter. He just enjoyed being with her. Regardless of whether she was being sarcastic or snide to him.

Glancing sideways at her from the corner of his eye, he realized that she'd lapsed into her own thoughts too. It was nice that they were comfortable together like this. Granted it had taken a long time to get this far.

A long time.

The sun was still sinking as the temperature began to cool some and the heat shimmers across the dunes fell, allowing them a clearer view of the darkening bands of color hugging the horizon. Quatre probably should have known she wouldn't care for this. Regardless, he had his excuse.

Dorothy figured this watching the sunset stuff wasn't going to get any more interesting, but it was peaceful out here. Oddly, she found it quite similar to the Colonies. There were no birds, no real insect or background noise. Just the wind really.

Probably why dear Quatre liked it. She supposed it didn't hurt her to humor him. She knew he did it for her more often then not.

"May I ask you something?" he broke the silence that she hadn't exactly realized had lengthened between them.

"You may always ask," she teased.

Quatre kept his gaze forward for a moment longer and then turned to glance at her before looking down to where her hands were crossed around her knees. "Your mother's ring…?"

Dorothy blinked at him before involuntarily looking down at her hand as well. With a sniff of disbelief she shook her head. "How do you do that?" she asked, turning back to him.

With a slightly guilty smile, Quatre turned away to the sunset again. "I'm observant."

Observant. That was an understatement. With a sigh, she took in the sights of the shadows lengthening behind the waves of dunes in the distance. "It was a reminder of things that I'm not sure I want to be reminded of," she confessed, figuring skipping to the point would server her better with this audience. "I gave it away."

She knew that his eyes were searching her for more information but she didn't return his gaze. Dorothy knew it was a hasty decision, and felt rather stupid for it right now. If nothing else, that ring was one of the only things she had of her parents that was uniquely theirs. Uniquely them.

Why did she find that thought so odd? People fell in love and got married every day. Why did she consider her parents an ill-fated tragedy and not simply normal?

"What don't you want to be reminded of?" he finally asked.

Did she even have a single answer? Somewhere in the dimming colors of the sunset, she could only shrug. "That I always have to be different."

She felt Quatre turn away before she caught the quiet chuckle from him and threw him a look out of the corner of her eye. With a shake of his head, he shifted and tucked a hand in his pocket. "You've always told me that you're the exception to everything," he reminded her. "I began believing that a long time ago."

With a sigh, Dorothy gave the dunes in front of them a bitter look for the—albeit correct—assessment. "Sometimes I feel I should apologize for allowing you to know me so well," she threw back at him.

"Please don't," he brushed it off before his hand caught her eye. Offered there in his palm was a very small, black velvet, jewelry box. Snapping her attention to him, she caught the smile in his eyes. "I enjoy the few advantages I get with you."

Dorothy's brain stalled, her heart rate quickening automatically as she looked between him and the box a couple times in utter shock. It couldn't be. What was he doing?

Quatre just waited, watching her as though memorizing her surprised features.

She finally shook herself out of it and focused back on the box. Without a word she took it carefully from him, moving to lower her knees. Holding it in her hands she wondered if she honestly knew what she'd find inside.

Ignoring the momentary hesitation, she gently pushed the lid open and tilted it to the remaining light. The stone and mounting of the ring inside was unmistakable. There was no possibility of a forgery or copy; she would have known it immediately.

At a loss, Dorothy turned to regard him. For his part Quatre just gave her a smile, apparently quite amused with himself. "If you have any desire to see it, I also have a three page appraisal sheet for that."

She almost dropped the thing, box and all. "How…?" Finally snapping her brain back to work, she narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. "How did you possibly find this?" Thinking farther she moved to face him more directly. "And why were you even looking for it?"

Holding up his hands, Quatre gave her a cringe of a smile. "Let's just say I thought it was very odd when it wasn't on your hand when you got home. It just took a little work to find and contact the shops in that area that might handle something like that. I got lucky."

"Wasn't on my hand?" she asked again. Observant, huh? "You're joking."

Shaking his head he turned away to the blues and purples of the fading light. "After everything that had happened, you'll have to excuse me if I was a little worried."

Worried. Oh, Quatre. Dorothy could only sigh at the sweet idiot in front of her. He'd do anything for her. Absolutely anything. When did she ever ask for that? Turning away again she chuckled at the revelation. When had it ever mattered what she asked him to do?

Looking back down at the ring, she picked it up and then closed the box and set it aside. For a second she just stared down at the thing. Like the bad penny that kept coming back, it was still here.

"I wasn't sure if you would actually want it back or not, but…." Looking at him, Quatre seemed to gather his thoughts again. "You have a bad habit of making snap decisions when it comes to your emotions. I thought maybe you'd regret it."

"Snap decisions?" she repeated at him, raising an eyebrow.

With a smile he nodded at her. "I'd accept your battle tactics any day," he teased. "But if it's something internal you don't deal with it well."

She glared at him for it before she figured she had no way to actually argue that. "Who asked you?" she snipped instead.

Quatre chuckled at her, obviously knowing she didn't have a come back for that. "It's part of your charm," he brushed it off.

With a snort, she rolled her eyes and landed her gaze back on the piece in her hands. "Only you could find my lack of emotion charming."

"You don't have a lack of emotion," he refuted.

Then why did the very thought of her star-crossed parents make her cringe?

As if hearing her thoughts, Quatre continued, "You have a lack of confidence in your emotions."

Well, wasn't he just being cheery tonight. "What did I do to deserve you?" she sarcastically asked.

"You really want me to answer that?" he teased back.

No, she could figure that list out on her own. Shaking her head, Dorothy gave up and slowly slipped the ring back onto her finger. "You'll have to tell me the whole story some time," she softly commented.

"If you want," he agreed. "By the way, I'm supposed to pass along a heartfelt thanks from the organizer of Corner House."

Dorothy shook her head at the remark, knowing instinctively what he was avoiding saying. "How much do I owe you?" she called him on it.

He chuckled at her. "Nothing. Like I said, I didn't know if you'd even want it back. It was a… snap decision on my part to find it."

"You're a sap," she declared, meeting his sheepish expression.

Quatre turned away with a little nod, and if the twilight didn't deceive her, there was a light blush to his cheeks. "Yeah, I know," he sighed.

With a laugh, she scooted over and closed the gap between them, turning to face him. Careful to check that she was on his un-wounded side, she braced herself against him and giggled at him, nuzzling under his ear to get him to squirm. Dragging her out—alone—into the desert to watch a sunset and return her family heirloom. Oh, Mr. Winner was something more than sappy.

Dorothy would almost be inclined to call him suggestive. And she was beginning to think she had become a fan of the shy, bashful and _supposedly_ unpresumptuous type.

Devious creature. He was up to something. She could feel it.

Quatre cringed away from her, turning to probably tell her to quit that but he never got the words out. Instead, she kissed him.

He responded easily. After all, it had been a long time since a move like this had left him shocked and unresponsive. Truthfully, it had been a long time since she'd really felt she could kiss him. A peck here or there she didn't worry about, but it bothered her to some degree that she knew she was his sole teacher in this art.

And to another degree it was somewhat gratifying. Somewhat… rather gratifying.

She'd pushed him too far. Quatre was apparently tired of her teasing today, and willing to express that. Dorothy's warm little thank you kiss was shoved, rather literally, back in her face. That passionate side of him edged into her as his lips kept hers.

She had carried a fear inside her for some time now about opening herself up to his touch too far. Dorothy knew acutely how his kiss could affect her if she felt it laced with that possessiveness. Though it hadn't seemed to hurt them the couple times in the past, she had allowed him reign over her quickly those times. There was a need in his touch that she had never known what to do with.

But whether it was the day's events or the seclusion or the settling heat, she couldn't tell, but she wasn't about to surrender to him this time.

Moving to a better angle, she retaliated. Her kiss was a little rough as she fought for dominance, enjoying the pure thrill that raced through her. And he resisted.

In utter delight she would have giggled manically if it were possible. This had gone from affection to war. Her beloved rival took to the competition as fiercely as she had ever wanted to see him react before pulling quickly away from her.

"You're not being nice," he directly accused.

"Neither were you," she reminded him, opening her eyes to slits to look up at him.

"You started it," he threw back, swallowing and turning away.

With an evil chuckle, she snuggled into his side and settled her cheek on his shoulder. "You're always half-hearted with me," she decided out loud, pouting.

With a soft sigh, she felt him slump a little as they watched the last of the purple glow dim over the vast horizon. "You never fight fair," he very softly admonished.

"No, I don't," Dorothy agreed. Raising her face again she whispered in his ear. "You should try it some time."

With a snort, he drooped his head, obviously not agreeing.

"You're too pent up," she counseled, leaning her chin on his shoulder. "You're trying too hard to keep everything inside." Almost startled, he raised his head again. Did her dearest think she wasn't pay attention? "It takes a lot of practice to get a kiss to lie, Quatre," she cooed. "You'll do well to watch that with most women."

"So what did I say?" he sarcastically asked.

With a giggle, she softly nuzzled his cheek in apology. "That you're annoyed with me."

"You are good at that then," he bitterly accused.

"Oh," she cooed. "You're right. I shouldn't tease you," she grudgingly admitted.

"If you were serious I couldn't handle it."

Blinking, Dorothy inched back a little to look at his profile. "Serious about what?"

Shaking it off, Quatre only mumbled, "Nothing." Shifting away he rose to his feet and offered her a hand. "We should get back."

She figured out too late apparently that she'd really missed something here. Letting him pull her to her feet, she didn't let go of his hand and turned back to pick up the box her ring had been in.

Why did it scare her when she knew she'd done something to affect him? Turning back she surprised him when she released his hand and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. "Thank you."

With a light chuckle he returned her hug, squeezing her a little, probably to say not to worry. "You're welcome."

For a second she just stayed there, still worried. Absently she felt the familiar weight of the ring on her finger. Whatever it was that he wanted from her in exchange for it, she'd figure it out. Right now she could only grant him a little affection and her gratitude.

* * *

"Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made  
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt." - William Shakespeare

AN: I'm not sure I believe it, but I got a chapter done finally. I apologize for the delay, and I apologize in advance for the delays to come. In the coming month I'll be moving, as well as taking a little road trip, so I don't actually know where I'll even physically be. I won't forget my dear readers though, and I promise to use what chances I get to write.

I thank everyone for the prayers and well wishes (and bad pep talks) I've gotten during this transition period. They haven't helped me pack, but they can sure boost my motivation. ;) I've said it before, I'll say it again, you guys are the best!


	54. Chapter 54

Grandiose words of wisdom from your beloved author:  
Motivation is a delusion brought on by good caffeine and therefore does not actually indicate the accomplishment of anything.  
Inspiration that strikes at 2am is only brilliant until reread.

_Revelations_  
By Isis  
Chapter 54 

She always had to make it a competition. It was all just a game. And there was no way to win when they weren't playing by the same rules.

Quatre laid awake, listening to Abdul snore peacefully away. He didn't want to dwell on this. He really would have rather fallen asleep, but between the noise and the ache still nagging in his shoulder his thoughts were turning more and more irritated as the night dragged on.

The really stupid part in all of this was that he'd expected the reaction he got. Running scenarios was all too common for him. Dorothy was either going to be angry to see the ring again and throw into the oblivion of the sand dunes, or quietly thank him and accept it back.

…And kiss him for it.

His timing was just off. After all, it was always something. Nothing ever went according to plan with this woman. Just like always he'd missed his goal and got nothing more than her famous teasing.

He shouldn't have been upset with her for it though. It wasn't her fault that his plan had once again gotten him nowhere. But he'd let it get to him. Her teasing had hit a spiteful nerve for some reason.

When was he going to learn that Dorothy was not a woman to respond to sweet, nice little sentiments like he kept trying to throw at her? Did he even realize that she was never going to just throw her arms around his neck and wholeheartedly gush out her thanks and affections? When was he going to give it up?

"…_you'll have to break her."_ Like that was ever going to happen. The Commander was right, she had far more wiles at her disposal than he did. He kept thinking that if he was gentle maybe he could coax her in. It had worked to an extent. One sugar cube at a time he'd gotten her to trust him, even to honestly care for him.

Sugar cubes apparently didn't buy any long-term commitment though. They were just enough to make her not bite his hand off.

Trying to find a way to block out Abdul's oblivious snoring, Quatre flipped onto his side in irritation, and about yelped in pain. How had he forgotten about his bruise? He flopped back to lay flat and forced himself not to think about the needles that seemed to be pushing into his flesh.

Misery loves company.

Sometimes he really didn't know why he bothered. Of course, it was probably a little too late to start thinking that now. He was in love with her. It didn't matter if she made him miserable.

He had to be the only idiot that would believe something like that.

Turning that over in his head a few times, he let it groggily echo.

Maybe he was an idiot. Maybe he really had no chance of ever getting out of this with his heart in tact and Dorothy in his arms. Maybe it didn't matter.

He was the only idiot who would love her like this.

Laying there in the middle of the night he still honestly believed that he was good for her. He would be good to her. Quatre was positive that he could love her better than anyone else could.

Was it was back to being a matter of pride? No. He couldn't think of this as being conceited. It just didn't feel that way. He knew he held a place in her heart. A place that was still new to her.

He could try to convince himself that she wasn't worth going through this for, but he was lying, and he knew it. The question was how much longer he waited before trying other tactics, not how long to wait until giving up.

Dorothy was everything to him, his strength and his hopeless weakness. For a moment in time she could infuriate him, bring him to his knees with a single slight, turn his ego to mush. But he was who he was because of her. Her words and her touch had reinvented him a piece at a time over the years. She had become his psychologist, and his exorcist.

No, she certainly wasn't the little devil that she tried to be. But Dorothy did relentlessly cling to his soul. She was truly beautiful, inside and out. There was nothing that compared to her.

And she needed him as much as he needed her. She just didn't know it yet.

Quatre carefully rolled onto this left side and scooted over on the small bed until his back touched the wall. Pressing his head into his pillow, he bunched up the covers over his other ear and tried to ignore the booming breathing of his friend.

* * *

Five minutes showers.

How the hell did these people survive with five minute showers?

Dorothy thought they were kidding with her before she actually took a good look at the tiny little bathroom sandwiched between two of the rooms in the guest quarters. Attempting to squeeze four women in this room while getting ready for a wedding was not going to be pretty.

Well, at least they wouldn't have to wait on each other for the shower.

Stupid desert.

Nashita was a Colonist, why were they getting married in this dust bowl anyway? Muslims must not know that it's supposed to be the bride's church… mosque… whatever. That probably wasn't traditional to them either.

Dorothy was collecting an interesting list of things that she didn't understand in this place. Between the Islamic customs, the Hindu customs, the desert necessities and the Maguanac specific oddities she needed a chart to figure out which was which.

After five minutes of trying to get a comb through her hair, she gave up and threw the thing into her overnight case with a vengeance. Feeling like a bathtub with a bad case of soap scum, she left the bathroom to find Iria frowning at her brush and picking the loose hair out of it too.

Apparently even with shorter hair, five minutes wasn't enough.

The elder woman flashed her a sympathetic smile and chuckle. Dorothy tried to return it even though she certainly didn't feel like it.

_Be nice to the sisters that may actually like you_, she thought to herself. Iria was still scrutinizing her, Dorothy was pretty sure. She was humoring her beloved brother. Most of the village was humoring her for Quatre's sake. Nashita and most of the guys were probably the only ones that thought she should actually be here.

Didn't matter. If she were completely honest, Dorothy would have to admit that she was here far more because of Quatre than because of Nashita and Manul too.

Pulling out a set of ponytail holders, she went to work trying to smooth her hair enough to add five of them down the length of it. She was a bit surprised when her, rather quiet, roommate stepped up behind her and began helping to get the locks to lay straight through the holders.

"I wish I could get any length to my hair. I get split-ends so easily," Iria started.

"I have to trim mine now and then," Dorothy tried to agree with her. "For the most part I just ignore it and it grows."

With a laugh the woman behind her picked up the set of ribbons from the nightstand. "Must be good genetics then. May I help?" she asked, holding up the ribbons.

"Please," Dorothy sighed to her. "The lady that gave me those knew what she was talking about. It's not worth it to leave it down."

"You can probably do a lot of things with putting it up though."

"I really never put it up," she returned. "My mother used to try it when I was little, but it never stays."

There was a moment of silence as Iria fluffed her hair out around the holders and then added the little ribbons over each one. "I'm sorry," she quietly mumbled. "Your mother is gone, isn't she?"

Blinking, Dorothy hadn't realized that she'd brought up her mother like that. Talking, even in passing, about her parents wasn't normal for her. But how did Iria know that? "My parents have both been gone a long time. It doesn't bother me," she half-lied to assure the woman behind her.

"That must have been difficult. We at least had Father after Mother passed away."

It still didn't sit well for Dorothy to hear something like that. Her opinions of the late Mr. Winner hadn't exactly improved over the time she'd gotten to know his only son. "Iria," she began before she realized that this wasn't Quatre and that she should probably watch her speech closer.

"Yes?"

Mentally shrugging, Dorothy continued. "I can't begin to understand why your family was split up so much after your mother's death."

Well that was a little blunt. Dorothy rolled her eyes at herself while Iria stayed quiet for a second behind her.

"Honestly… I don't think father trusted himself to raise us all by himself," she seemed to think out loud. "I never asked him. I never thought it was that big of an issue. Like any large family, we looked after each other. The older were responsible for the younger and we were placed in boarding schools where we could concentrate on our studies. Many of the older girls were already in schools around the area. It was just normal."

Oh. Perhaps Quatre didn't realize that. "I understand," she nodded to herself before remembering that Iria was still tying her hair. Just like the princesses of Romafeller, send them off to learn their arts and their place while the men were kept closer to home and the family functioning.

"Quatre was to be the heir to the company and so Father probably kept him there to see to it that he learned the trade. But… I just don't think he could bear to let Quatre leave him," she quietly admitted.

"His only son," Dorothy agreed. "I'm not surprised."

"It's not just that," Iria mumbled and finished up with the last ribbon. Stepping away, she took a seat on her bed. "Quatre is so much like our mother. So much like them both actually. When he was born, I'm sure Father couldn't… forget that," she tapered out.

Dorothy turned to look at her from the corner of her eye. "Because your mother died in childbirth," she filled in the piece that Iria was intentionally avoiding. And as far as she was concerned, that topic was one that had been conveniently avoided for far too long.

Iria snapped her head up to look at her in surprise. "You know?"

Turning away from the shocked scrutiny, she nodded and began rummaging through her luggage for a shirt to wear over the tank top she had on. "Quatre isn't very good a hiding things," she reasoned.

"No…" Iria slowly agreed. "No, he's not. He's so very kind. I know it hurt him badly to find out."

That was an understatement. Taking a very thin, long sleeve shirt from her garment bag, Dorothy tried to back down the defensive edge that this conversation had brought up in her. "It shouldn't have been a secret to begin with. It would have been better if he could have at least asked the questions he's plagued with now."

The admonishing wasn't meant for the woman seated in this room, but when she turned back to Iria, the other was blinking back tears. Sickened with her crass behavior over something she had nothing to do with, Dorothy about slapped herself. "I'm sorry," she immediately apologized, and then about slapped herself for sounding like Quatre.

"You're right, I think," Iria shook it off, and dried her eyes quickly with a hand. "Father always said that it didn't matter. It didn't matter how any of us were born, we were all his children. And I know that he was right. He loved us all dearly, but Quatre…."

She paused to catch her breath and Dorothy stepped closer. Not sure how to try to be comforting, she awkwardly placed a hand on the elder woman's shoulder.

"They were so at odds with each other. Right up to the end," she continued. "I just don't know how Quatre really remembers Father."

That wasn't an easy question. Dorothy knew very well that even he wouldn't know exactly how to answer that. With a silent sigh, she sunk down to the floor in front of Iria and sat down on her knees. "He isn't sure that he was loved at all," she softly admitted, pulling their conversations out and trying to keep it in his words. "He has a hard time believing that your father could love all of you. It bothers him."

"That's not true," Iria whispered, probably mostly to herself.

"I know," Dorothy nodded to herself with a sigh. "But Quatre blames himself for everything. Sometimes I don't think he realizes that he doesn't have to make people love him."

The man was too insecure about things like that. For some reason he honestly seemed to believe that he had to earn affection from those closest to him. Why, she didn't know. No one certainly had to earn his. Dorothy was a living example of that.

"You're very close to him, aren't you?" Iria mumbled into her thoughts.

Raising her head to look at the older woman, Dorothy blinked at her, confused. "I suppose," she slowly admitted. Somehow "close" was not a word that she would probably use herself. It just didn't sound right for some reason.

There was a knock on their door before it opened without invitation. Nashita popped her head in with a far too optimistic smile stuck on her face for this early. "Iria, morning prayer," she happily announced before hopping back out of the room, leaving the door open.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow in the direction of the retreating woman and comically shook her head. For a psychiatrist in training, the girl was hopelessly oblivious.

Turning back to make sure Iria was all right, she found the woman still looking oddly down at her, a smile to her eyes. Being caught, Iria shook it off and stood up to follow her bubbly sister. "He's lucky to have you," she softly commented and gave her a smile over her shoulder as she slipped out the door.

For a minute, Dorothy sat staring at the door which had been closed behind the Winner sisters. Slowly lowering her eyes to the polished rock floor, she humbly whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

The early light of morning was already blue over the roofline of the Eastern buildings. Centered between them was a small, rather plan, mosque amid the community gathering areas in the central square. There wasn't much to see of the building itself, but it welcomed the children of Islam who faithfully marched towards it.

The muezzin's calls came from the doorway steps, the cries the only real sound besides the wind in the square.

The words were traditional Arabic, and though lulling in familiarity, Quatre couldn't translate them. He'd been very young still when he'd last prayed the Salaah, and had never really learned it.

There were times when he felt the draw to return to—or rather, actually begin—his family's faith, but it wasn't as easy as it sounded. There were a number of things that seemed to always hold him back. Where did he begin?

And then there were the pieces of his life that Quatre wasn't sure Allah would forgive him for.

Didn't that just make him a hypocrite to pretend purity and bow in prayer?

"Aren't you joining them?"

Startled, he looked up to find Dorothy curiously watching him from the barrack's doorway.

With a smirk she nodded in the direction of the mosque. "I wouldn't want that guy yelling at me for being tardy."

Glancing back at the muezzin at the front steps, Quatre couldn't help but chuckle at the insinuation. Shaking his head, he didn't really respond to her as she slipped over to take a seat beside him on the rock bench. The calls stopped and the man moved inside, closing the doors behind him, leaving the square dim and quiet again.

Still, he stared at the doorway until he began to feel Dorothy's confused eyes boring into him. Lowering his head, he propped his chin on his arms, which were crossed over one raised knee. None of the guys had ever actually questioned him over his faith practices, and basically let him be.

He was sure she wouldn't exactly be as placating.

He hadn't thought anyone else would be out yet, and least of all Dorothy. He was mainly just escaping Abdul's snoring really.

"I guess I've never told you that I don't really practice," he quietly began.

"I guess not," she returned.

It probably wasn't an admonishment, but it felt like one. He still felt guilty when confronted about it.

"What did he say?" came the curious question.

Blinking, Quatre turned to look at her from the corner of his eye. "It's a call to prayer," he explained. "It praises Allah and calls everyone in."

She nodded to herself and tucked her feet up on the bench as well, settling back against the wall of the building. "So he's the church bell."

Quatre turned to look back at her, finding an amused smirk on her features. "Is that the purpose of church bells?" he asked.

"It used to be," she nodded. "Some still are. And some even ring three times a day for a special prayer as well. It depends on the church really."

Turning back again, Quatre somehow found that incidental similarity comforting. "I don't actually know what he said word for word," he softly admitted. She was still waiting for the explanation after all. He knew her far too well by now not to realize when she was tactically avoiding a direct question. "I've never actually learned it."

"Oh."

So he'd stumped her. That didn't happen often. Of course, what did she say to something like that?

With a smile, Quatre tried to push away the thoughts and mood that he'd been plagued with all night. "Someday maybe I'll ask how you returned to your faith."

There was a soft hum in acknowledgement. "I'll try to have a good answer then," she responded in kind.

* * *

The Maguanac village never seemed to change. Since he could walk, Rasid knew the tiny, winding streets through the houses that grouped together and grew up against the Western wall. The great square market area had been the home for festivals, celebrations, public concerns, and even funerals, for as long as he could remember.

There was nothing new to this town, and at the same time, each time he returned he found something different. The changes were in the people. The desert was a place that caused souls to shine.

The men with him joyfully spread out into the village as they entered, most sprinting off towards family homes or towards the community buildings to join their brothers of the Corp. It brought a slow smirk to Rasid's face to watch hardened soldiers break down into running, laughing boys back in their childhood homes.

No, some things never changed.

Rasid had no reason to rush his long, even gate towards the Eastern buildings. There was no family here for him to greet, aside from the Maguanacs. The villagers he passed greeted him respectfully, if not warmly, as he was accustomed to.

He watching as the men that had traveled with him were met by happy parents or running children.

He had never been envious of those with someone to come home to. He wasn't sure he remembered the feeling. To him, each man under his leadership was his charge, and the reason that he kept his position foremost in his life. His only sorrows came when one of his men didn't return home.

But as always, somewhere in all of the sameness, there was something different.

"Oh, Dorothy, be careful..."

Pausing at the entrance to the open community hall, Rasid blinked at the sight as six women stood gathered around a table, watching in concern. Manul's betrothed, stood just outside the ring of women, both hands folded over her mouth as she mumbled the line over and over again.

On top of the table, stood a folding chair which the women were solidly holding to keep it steady. On top of that stood Lady Dorothy on her toes and stretched for all her height as she struggled to hook a garland of flowers to the central peak of the opening.

Rasid could only smile as she ignored the warning and balanced on one foot to gain an extra centimeter or two. It was enough to hook the garland in place. With a sigh of relief, she lowered herself to flat feet on the chair and casually fluffed out the bow in the center of the garland.

The surrounding women sighed as well, but none moved to release their steadying hold on the chair.

"There now," she mumbled. "All done. See? Who needs a ladder?" she added down towards Miss Nashita.

"Please just come down now," she asked instead.

With a nod, Lady Dorothy looked down at her precarious position with an uncertain hum.

And Rasid nearly laughed. Always getting herself up to something without any regard for getting down again.

Shaking his head, he dropped his duffle at the side of the breezeway and walked towards them. The local women in the group turned to give him a polite hello and Lady Dorothy flashed him smile. "Good morning, Captain," she sweetly addressed him.

Stepping up to the make-shift scaffolding, the women scooted out of his way enough for him to come up behind her. "May I?" he asked, giving her a good humored look to see if she would actually accept the help or not.

"Oh, just this once," she shrugged. She attempted to turn to face him, but shifted her weight wrong, nearly folded the chair up with her still on it.

There was a gasp as she tried to steady herself but Rasid reacted instantly. Regardless of whether she would have fallen or not, he snatched a hold of her. Grabbing her around the waist with one arm he pulled her back to him, catching her weight with his other arm under her knees.

It took just a second for her to get her bearings as she blinked, her eyes wide as she stared down into his. Almost nose to nose, Rasid worriedly waited for her to realize she was safe.

Closing her eyes, she gave a little laugh at herself. "Thank you," she mumbled.

He tired to sound disapproving through his amusement as he easily lowered her to the ground. "Reckless."

"Perhaps," she shrugged, not the least bit phased. "But with you around, why would I worry?" she narrowed her eyes up at him as he released her.

With a shake of his head he tried not to laugh at the brazen spirit of this hell-fired woman.

However, he wasn't exactly prepared when she tugged his arm for him to lean down a little. Hopping up on her toes, Lady Dorothy pecked a kiss on his cheek and then released him. "Thank you, Captain," she teased.

Turning away, she picked up the chair from the table and carried it off towards the open doorway to the building beside them.

Rasid watched after her, chuckling but half shocked. She may be one the most mature young women he had ever known, but her playful side was going to get her in trouble.

It was the giggling that made him turn back to the little collection of woman in front of him. Two of them turned immediately to picking up the table and carrying it off towards the same door that Lady Dorothy disappeared beyond. The others quickly found something else to look at.

All except for Miss Nashita, who continued to look up at him with a secretive smile on her face. "Rasid," she giggled at him.

"Hum?" he questioned, his usual expression returning. The other girls paused to look back at him as well, and Miss Iria flashed him a smile beside her sister.

But Miss Nashita raised both hands to point to her cheeks. "You're blushing," she sing-songed.

…He was what?

* * *

Quatre tried very hard not to laugh.

The others weren't trying at all.

"Blushing?"

"The Captain?"

"Over a kiss on the cheek?"

"Blushing?"

"How could they tell?"

"No way."

"Blushing!"

Quatre just snickered to himself. The one problem with small communities was that news traveled very, very fast. Especially when one didn't want it to.

Poor Rasid. Dorothy just had a knack for undermining images.

Ahmed pushed his chair back towards Quatre's side, his hands laced behind his head. "Maybe you should be worried, Master Quatre?" he heavily insinuated.

The table died to silence for a moment and he turned to stare at his friend as the other un-concernedly twitched his moustache. For a second Quatre's mind was so congested with trying to figure out everything that was wrong with that sentence that he couldn't come up with one to start with. "…I don't even know how to respond to that," he finally admitted incredulously.

The others burst out laughing and took to throwing things at Ahmed for it.

"What?" he complained.

Quatre shook his head and stood up from the table and headed for the door.

"Where you goin'?" Ahmed called after him.

With a chuckle he turned back before opening the door. "To see if I can save someone from a falling chair," he teased.

The others gave him a round of encouragement and laughs as he slipped out, rolling his eyes. What would he ever do without these guys?

He didn't suppose that the rest of them actually realized how protective of Dorothy Rasid had become. The two may not have started off on good terms, but by the time they had left Mars' orbit over a year ago, Rasid had seemingly adopted her.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Quatre was the only one that got to see that self-appointed task out of him. He cringed at the memory of how Rasid had waited up specifically to catch the two of them sneaking back to their rooms late one night at Dorothy's chateau. Not to mention that after her bad joke about pink paint Quatre had gotten the scare of his life from Rasid's paternal "speech."

Suppressing a shutter, he forced those thoughts far from his mind and looked around the square. Close to noon, the unprotected areas of the market were deserted as people collected in the shade offered by the buildings. Under the roof of the hall, Rasid and Commander Sada'ul stood supervising as Nashita directed her little group of helpers around the area, setting this or that.

Weddings seemed to be an awful lot of work.

Stepping up next to the two elder men, the Commander clapped a hand on his shoulder with a smile. "Quatre, my boy," he greeted.

"Hello, Sir. Hello, Rasid," he nodded past the shorter man up to his friend. "How did Station 3 go?" he asked.

"Complete," he informed him. "L2's Stations have been refitted. We will move to L5 next week."

Quatre gave him a surprised nod. "So soon?" The team of his friends that were working for Winner Mining doing the updates and repairs to the company's Resource Stations had been at their jobs for months now. Apparently they had become expertly proficient at it. "I'll make sure that everything will be in place for you when I get back."

Rasid nodded in acknowledgement.

Aside from the possibility that someone had undermined the orders for the necessary supplies again, there shouldn't be a problem. And he really didn't believe there would be any other attempts in that area again. It could wait for now. It wasn't enough to call and trouble Mrs. Shanelle with.

"You boys can talk shop at the office," a haughty voice piped up from behind them. Dorothy appeared beside him and roughly pushed a box into Quatre's chest. "Here, dear brother, make yourself useful," she made a shooing motion towards the rest of the women milling around the hall's sides. In turn, she turned back the way she'd come to an open doorway in the next building over.

Quatre watched after her a second in abandon and weakly shook his head. "Yes, Ma'am," he mumbled.

"Still haven't gotten anywhere there, have ya, son?"

Turning back, he watched Commander Sada'ul shake his head in, what suspiciously appeared to be, amusement. "S-sir?" he stuttered, casting a worried glance first in Dorothy's direction and then in Rasid's.

Clapping the hand he still held on his shoulder down a couple times, the shorter man simply smiled at him. "Well, try harder."

Turning, he folded his hands behind his back and casually walked off. Quatre watched after him for a second in confusion, and more than a little embarrassment. It was at times like this that he really wished he wasn't so hopelessly transparent to everyone.

But he swallowed uncomfortable when he heard the rumble of a hum. Trying to ignore an un-nameable panic, he glanced up to see Rasid looking pointedly down at him. His expression wasn't exactly curious, but it wasn't openly friendly either.

Giving his Captain a displaced smile he hopelessly tried to shrug and fain innocence. Quatre didn't believe for an instant that it worked, but it did remind him that he was still holding something. Looking down at it he mumbled, "Box," apparently just to confirm the obvious.

Without farther attempts to cover that, he simply turned and stiffly walked off towards the center of the room and the other collection of boxes and sacks that had appeared there.

Why him? Why couldn't everyone in the Sphere just find someone else to ruin a love-life for? Let's pick on the guy that already can't get anywhere with the most un-interested and hostile woman in the galaxy. Sure, that sounds like fun.

Irritated, Quatre set the box down on the stack of others just in time to catch Dorothy coming back with another armload. Squinting against the dusty wind that twirled around the square and through the breezeway, she looked out at the houses rising up in stacks across the clearing.

The wind carelessly tossed the ends of her hair as the untraditional style she wore tried to keep it in check. A white top fit snuggly to her underneath a thin, almost see-through, lavender shirt. The loose hem of the shirt brushed around her hips as she sauntered forward.

No matter his mood, somewhere in the back of his mind, he still couldn't help but admire how beautiful she was. …But she'd better be worth this.

Turning back to where she was going, Dorothy caught his eyes and gave him a questioning look as she stepped up to set her items down. "What?"

Shaking his head, Quatre mentally slapped himself. "Nothing."

"What?" she pointedly tried again. "What did I do now?" Planting her hands on her hips she glared at him for an answer.

"Nothing," he held up his hands in front of himself.

"Oh, blaa, it's hot," Nashita complained as she passed them. "I'm going inside."

"Right behind you," Iria agreed as she followed after, patting Quatre on the shoulder as she passed.

The rest didn't take long to agree to that and file towards the doorway to the next building either.

"So much for me helping," he muttered as he watched them leave.

With a sigh Dorothy looked down at the pile she'd collected and then shrugged. "Their loss. Now, what is this thing tonight?" she asked. "If the wedding isn't for two days, what's all this for?"

With a smile, he shook his head. "You'll see."

"Really?" she raised an eyebrow.

Quatre only nodded, specifically showing that he wasn't about to tell her now.

Rolling her eyes she brushed it off. "Fine. But…" she cooed, slipping over she ran a hand up his arm and then leaned in to prop her chin on his shoulder, "when do I get the tour?"

"Tour?" he questioned nervously. Throwing a look around he found that Rasid had left and that the area was mostly deserted. He relaxed a little but still didn't like the tone of voice she was using. "You haven't found your way around?"

"Quite well," she dismissed the idea. Stepping in closer she looped both arms around his shoulders and his back automatically went stiff when he felt her press against him. "But I think I'd be a little more interested in the basement," she dropped to a purr of a whisper.

"Basement?" he swallowed. It really was hot out here. "The village is on a bed of rock. Why would there be a basement?"

"Well, I'm amusing there must be something below us," she thoughtfully refuted.

Why him? "Uh, because…?"

"Well," she removed one hand to point towards the houses and the Western wall, "I happened to note that there are twelve chimneys that seem to be very evenly spaced and just the perfect size for underground ventilation shafts amid the houses. I just thought maybe that meant something," she obviously tired to sound innocent.

Looking out at the rooflines of the stacked and staggered homes, it was possible to pick out twelve amid the maze of smaller or irregular piles that exited the houses. Of course, that would only be if someone was standing here and specifically looking very hard for them. "You just happened to notice that, huh?" he accused.

"Well, I may have been looking a little," she teased and hugged his shoulders. "So…?"

"So what?" he stalled.

"So, do I get a tour of the real thing?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?" she pouted.

Dejectedly, Quatre cursed his luck again. "I'm sure you can imagine that there are rules associated with access to a military base," he quietly tried to reason. "Mistress or not, you're still a civilian," he reminded her.

"Civilian?" she spat like it was a dirty word. Her grip around his shoulders slipped as she sniffed at him. "That's all I am to you, aren't I?"

"Dorothy, I can't. It's off limits," he tried to be reasonable.

"And after I figured it out too."

That pout was really threatening to get to him. "I'm sorry. There's not much left anyway," he cajoled.

"Then why should it still be off limits?" she turned on him, nuzzling softly behind his ear.

Squirming away from the ticklish feeling only made her tighten her hold. "It just is."

"Please?" she sweet-talked him.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he honestly informed her. "If Rasid finds out I snuck you into the base alone, he'll…" mentally he completed that sentence with, _castrate me_, "…have me mutilated," he finished instead.

"Huh? Why?" Dorothy sobered.

_Because he's the only one not cheering for me_, he rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Dearest? Are you alright?"

No. "I'm fine."

With a disappointed sigh, she slipped away from him. "This really is going to be a boring trip," she mumbled.

And all at once, Quatre either got heatstroke or an epiphany. _"Well, try harder."_ Fine.

Turning he looked back at her a second before Dorothy blinked at him. "What?"

"I can never say no to you," he honestly admitted.

"Huh?"

Without waiting for his nerve to back down, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching he led her back behind the Eastern buildings and out of the way of any prying eyes.

* * *

Iria looked up towards the door again. "I really thought Quatre and Dorothy would have come in with us," she reasoned out loud.

Nashita sipped at her drink before giving an evil little chuckle. "Oh, I think those two both have their own agendas to take care of."

Confused, Iria turned back to her sister. "Agendas?"

With a happy hum the other only lounged back in her chair and fanned herself.

* * *

"I think I've really become a bad influence on you," Dorothy admitted.

Quatre had taken the back way and through some of the narrow streets—if they could be called that—to their quarters, never saying a word or releasing the vice grip on her hand. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he wasn't comfortable with this, and she was starting to feel guilty for it.

He couldn't say no to her. Well, yes, that was mostly true. He had a hard time saying no to anyone. But she didn't suppose that her little schmoozing helped any. Dang it, she was supposed to be trying to stop that.

But it was so much fun to watch him squirm….

Teasing him again. Why did she never think before she acted? Besides, he still seemed to be a little upset. Was he still angry about last night? She really was trying to make it up to him, but somehow this wasn't working.

Nothing seemed to work right these days.

He brought her through the back entrance to the barracks and opened a door at the end of the hall that looked just like any other. Inside however was a small laundry room and in the corner stood a walk-in refrigerator.

Opening the appliance Quatre dragged her in and Dorothy actually sighed at the massive temperature change. "You know, this is actually a really bad cover," she observed as he moved a hidden panel and began punching in a lengthy number sequence.

"I know," he mumbled. "There are eight entrances, some far more camouflaged than others."

"To draw any attackers to these," she nodded. "Smart."

"It's come in handy once anyway." The back shelf and panel slid aside to reveal a stairwell. After a second the light flickered on to guide them down the steep steps.

And Dorothy hesitated, stopping Quatre before he walked in. "How much trouble could this get you in?" she asked despite herself.

For a second she thought he was going to back down and tell her that he couldn't do it, but to her surprise he seemed to change his mind. However, she about fell over when he narrowed his eyes at her and actually smirked. "Scared?" he teased.

He didn't. He couldn't have. The bloody man didn't even drive over the speed limit let alone willingly try to entice her into breaking one of his own militia's rules of conduct. Granted there was that whole piloting a destructive weapon and multiple terrorist attacks in his past, but otherwise the man wouldn't break a law enough to jaywalk.

"Who are you, and what did you do with my Quatre?" she stared at him in abandon.

"This was your idea," he reminded her.

Alright, so he'd lost his mind. May as well make good use of it. With a shrug, she waved at him to continue. "Very bad influence," she reasoned it away.

"Just please be very quiet until I make sure there's no one else down here," he softened notable.

With an internal laugh Dorothy nodded and followed after him as he led her down the curving staircase cut into the bed of rock the village sat on. Meeting a landing, he turned them down another corridor, ignoring the other two directions available and then up a short flight of steps.

A misdirection trap. This whole place had been designed in case of a manned assault or foothold situation. Cleaver. She was going to have to give the group credit. Turning again he stopped them at a blast door and entered another set of numbers into the keypad. Once this slid aside, there was no more clipped away sand rock to be found. The walls were lined in metal plating, grates cut here and there for ventilation systems. The entire place looked more like a space cruiser than an underground structure.

So here was the heart of the place finally.

Dropping another three levels, they were finally dumped into open space. Quatre quietly made his way through dark and Dorothy basically tried to keep from tripping over his heels.

He obviously knew where he was going because she would have walk right over the panel that he stopped them at. And slowly, one by one, the overhead lighting banks clicked on and brightened to full intensity.

And Dorothy about had to pick her jaw up off the floor. What she would have assumed was the central hanger bay was actually only an observation level that the two of them were standing on. At the other side of the area stood windows that looked out at the massive underground opening which probably stretched most of a mile into the distance.

"This facility was designed as the main base for the Corp. and also a housing facility for the civilian population of the village in case of a direct or aerial attack," Quatre filled her in as she slowly paced towards the view of the nearly empty hanger area. "The majority of it sits outside of the village itself and provides access from all four directions. The idea is that there's a work around to every situation. Civilian safety is always primary. If they can be moved, the rest is up to the soldiers."

"Impressive," she whispered.

* * *

He was chemically imbalanced. Quatre was sure of it by now.

He was also quite sure that there was no way out either.

Well, if anyone found them he was dead anyway. Maybe Dorothy would remember him fondly this way. It was the only consolation he got.

"Please, please," she sweetly begged.

He had risked his life and the lives of his friends countless times to restore peace to the Earth Sphere. He would still do anything to preserve it and couldn't even think of allowing something to undermine the fragile lives of the Sphere's inhabitants.

…So why in all of space was he teaching Dorothy Catalonia how to pilot a mobile suit?

"I've always wanted to do this," she happily situated herself into the training pod's cockpit. "Grandfather could forbid it all he wanted, but Treize was the one that always cut off my chances," she mused.

"Probably afraid you'd take his position," Quatre mumbled.

"Thank you," she happily smiled like that had been meant as a compliment. "Now don't tell me."

Starting at her right she flipped the power switches expertly in order and gained green lights across the simulator's screens. Testing the right footpad she seemed satisfied as the lower controls responded to her. Moving to her left she hesitated only a couple times as she checked the locking mechanisms and powered up all mobile drives like she had done it a hundred times before.

"You said you've never done this, right?" he finally questioned.

"It's unfortunately all book knowledge," she returned, not turning away from her preflight. "This is very similar to the Leo's layout."

"For the basics," he nodded, watching her from the open hatch of the training pod. He probably shouldn't be surprised by this. Dorothy was an expert at anything she could get her hands on. Why would a working knowledge of piloting an MS be any different?

"Alright, so let's see if I fall over," she giggled at herself like a child with a new toy.

Quatre just swallowed and tried to pin a supportive smile over his reluctant feelings. Taking the joystick controls, she throttled the machine up and the monitoring screens on the outside of the pod lit up to follow her progress. Taking on the role of teacher with, or without, his best intentions, he watched as the simulated projection of her Maguanac class MS "walked" shakily forward.

Not bad at all.

A step at a time, she slowly built up speed until she seemed comfortable with the maneuver. Pressing in a quick combination the propulsion jets at the back of her machine fired. Unfortunately her start up was far too fast and they died again as the whole simulated thing went flying face-first into the "ground."

"Ah!" she cried in defeat as the machine shut down the controls and quickly reset itself.

And Quatre was laughing before he even thought to try to stop himself. But when he turned back to her to be met by the glare of those ice-cold violet eyes, he sobered instantly. "…Sorry."

The glare didn't soften any.

"OK, I should have told you this," he tired instead. "You're still treating it like a Leo. It's not," he shook his head before kneeling down to be more her height in the doorway to the pod. Pointing out her error, he carefully placed her hands over the joystick controls again and hit the restart.

Again she started out fine, and he watched her progress on the monitor on the outside wall beside him as well as trying to watch her actual movements. Once again she started the rear thrusters and this time did actually angle the machine up instead of straight into the ground.

But her start was still far too fast for her to control her positioning. Threatening to flip the whole thing over on its back this time, Quatre instinctually reached into the simulator, clamping his hand around hers and pulling it back.

Once righted, he released her hand and then pealed her fingers off the buttons halfway until she reached a reasonable speed. Dorothy adjusted underneath him as she kept the rest of the operations in normal limits. Slowing her farther, he pressed her fingers under his in sequence until the stabilizers were firing in time with the thrusters, allowing her suit to hover in mid-air.

Aside from the altitude alarms in the background telling them that, were this a real situation, she would have stalled her engines and crashed, she was in good shape.

"Got it?" he asked, slowly sliding his hand away from hers.

"I think so," she returned, trying little forward and reverse moves on her own.

On the side panel a warning light flashed up, informing her that her thrusters were out of power already and began its countdown until they died completely. "That was quick," she muttered as she disengaged them and let the simulated machine plunge to an unsightly death.

"You're not dealing with a flight model," he lectured. "Your fuel supply is for ground maneuvering, not flying. It's mostly an emergency response and isn't meant for long-term use."

"That's a shame," she shook her head and laid it back against the seat. "Flight enabled machines always seem so much more versatile."

"They have their drawbacks," he defended.

Waving that off, she flipped the controls again. "One more go."

* * *

Eight tries later Dorothy finally crawled out of the simulation pod, giggling like a little girl. Any more and she'd be asking for a combat program.

And Quatre was not willing to even mention that. She was just a bit too quick of a study for his liking anyway. He should have expected her to be, but the thought of her piloting just didn't sit well with him.

His thoughts had always been focused on keeping the people close to him out of combat and out of the line of fire. _Knowing_ that Dorothy didn't care about that particular desire and _realizing_ it were two different things though.

"It's almost a shame to have to destroy such wonderful pieces of machinery," she sighed, stretching her arms above her head as he shut down the simulator.

Watching her from the corner of his eye, he felt the tug at his heart as his memories turned involuntarily to Sandrock. "In some ways," he quietly agreed. "But it's best this way."

"Sort of takes all the fun out of life though," she returned, lacing her hands behind her back and quietly walking up to one of the empty docking stations beside them. Turning she looked down the row of docking pads, and then around to the maintenance bays on the opposite wall of the main level hanger area.

"Fun?" he about laughed at her. "You and I are always going to have a difference of opinion about that."

"One of many, Master Winner," she cooed back towards him and tenderly trailed a hand along the side of the main level control panel. "If there's nothing to enjoy in battle it truly become a fruitless concept. As long as there is promise, passion or possession a battle continues."

She browsed the control panel in front of her as Quatre secretly rolled his eyes. Her speeches always held a grain of truth to them, but he had gotten used to mostly ignoring them over the years. She still confused him if he tried too hard to get a point out of her when she was philosophizing.

Most of the time he figured she only stated things like that so emphatically to see if she could get a rise out of someone. His little manipulator.

Taking a covert look around again he edgily reminded himself that they seemed to be spending a lot more time down here than he'd wanted. "Perhaps. But maybe we can continue with your assurances that war is a beautiful thing back up top?"

All interest in the controls for the docking bay was forgotten as she turned to face him again. For a second he blinked at her, waiting for whatever rebuttal or speech she was going to hit him with, but instead she only eyed him carefully.

What did he say? He wasn't a mind reader, but he didn't need to be when it came to certain things. And Dorothy's—at least vocal—attitude on war in general was one that he was very familiar with. Was it somehow insensitive to bring that up now? He also knew quite well that, even if her beliefs may not have changed, her ways of expressing it had.

She still believed that people as a general rule had the ability and will to fight, and as long as they also had a desire to, then there would be battles. War to her had been the answer. Show the people something so terrible, so lamentable, that they would never desire it again.

She'd told him that on _Libra_. Had proven the point, so to speak, to him with the tip of her blade.

"Would you do it again?" finally came her response.

And Quatre could only clarify to himself that that meant his involvement. "Yes," he answered honestly. Perhaps it was too quick of an answer. Perhaps he should have actually thought about it. But he didn't.

"Even with everything that you know now?" she countered, turning back to the control systems and making a production out of clicking off each light bank instead of just using the master switch.

That question brought only a slightly longer hesitation. "Yes."

Her finger hovered for a second over the last light which was just above them, and then she methodically clicked it off as well, leaving them in dim light of the open doorway to the upper level rooms.

"And now?"

It was seemingly only a question in the dark. He waited for some sort of explanation as he watched her silhouette finally move forward. "Now?"

"Now," she confirmed. "What if you were called on again now?"

Her pace never altered as she slipped past him, almost brushing his shoulder in the wide walkway of the area as she went on by. Looking after her he noted that she never turned back to see if he was going to follow or not. Once she reached the stairway and began to climb, he quickly moved to catch up.

"I'd do whatever I could," he softly answered behind her as he watched the ends of her hair sway back and forth as she mounted the steps.

"You are a reserve Preventers agent," she seemed to contemplate. "You still pledge loyalty to an independent militia. You have taken an extensive interest in following the formation of the new government, especially in the Colonies. And you've gone so far as to join a covert and illegal group of watchers," she threw in with a note of amusement. "Is that what you mean?"

Quatre wasn't sure what she meant was the problem. "You asked if I would help if the need arose. I'm answering yes," he confirmed.

Clicking off the stairway light on him as she met the control level again, she turned the wrong way down the hallway. Quatre threw a look towards the stairway they had come down and then back to following Dorothy's trek. What was she up to?

"Actually," she drawled, "that wasn't what I asked."

She disappeared into a doorway a few rooms down. Going after her, he turned into the practice room as well, finding that she'd obviously found her way around much better than he would have given her credit for after his lightning fast tour. "Then what did you ask?"

Curiously she stepped on the thin mat laid out over the center of the floor and then nodded absently to herself. Still not answering him she walked to the back wall and picked up a set of sticks. "I asked," she began, turning to throw the practice sticks at him, "if you would fight again."

Quatre caught them in one hand before they hit him in the nose, but didn't turn away from Dorothy. She kept his eyes only a moment until she turned to pick up another set, almost delicately untying the string that held them together.

He dropped his eyes finally from her to the painted rods in his hand. "Only if I had to," he answered.

"People are creative. They can invent a lot of excuses for why a phrase like 'if I have to' never comes true."

He snapped back to look at her, not appreciating that. He'd learned very young that excuses were merely un-admitting apologies, and he did not make a habit of that.

Obliviously, she sauntered over to the front of the mat and kicked off her shoes. He blinked his thoughts back when she casually tugged the sleeve her of lavender shirt off. Switched the sticks to her other hand, she let the shirt slide off in a pile to the floor, exposing the white top she had on beneath.

Looking back to the sticks in his hand, Quatre swallowed.

"You tried to tell me once what you fought for. We've never finished that conversation."

This was _Libra_. This had been her same line of thought. She was provoking him. _"Why do you fight?"_

"And if I say I don't want to?" he carefully asked, raising his eyes to watch her cautiously.

With a merry laugh she turned to look at him over one shoulder. "Kind, noble Quatre," she purred. "Do I have to take the first swing again?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but instead of making good on the offer… she winked.

Dorothy. This wasn't just _Libra_. This was the night on Mars when she forced him to go to bed. This was the afternoon she pushed him into his swimming pool. This was the night at the chateau that she stole his pencil. This was her challenge.

A challenge that she never considered finished.

For the first time he could remember with her, he let his feelings slide away. She was not an enemy, not even an opponent, and not his love. She was a challenge. A test.

Quatre pulled the string off the sticks and dropped it. He even quickly pulled his vest off and let it slide to the ground as well. And, almost just to be spiteful, he unbuttoned his collar.

Walking onto the mat, he circled his right arm, testing his bruised shoulder. He had probably 87 percent mobility back without a noticeable amount of pain. She had a very slim advantage if she was counting on it.

Lining up with her, she turned to face him fully, an amused smirk to her lips. "Thank you," she nodded towards him. Dropping easily to ready stance, she waited.

Hesitation? He almost smiled at it as he stood straight and watched her. "What do you really want to know?"

"Simple question," she returned. "Would you still fight?"

"I've answered that. If I have to."

He didn't get to expound on that as Dorothy finally launched her attack run. Closing quickly, she swung with both sticks in parallel. It was an unheard of move, and he blocked with this right stick and pivoted physically out of the way. He had no other response than to force her to come after him again with something else.

He wasn't prepared for her right-handed backswing. His pivot hadn't taken him far enough out of her reach and her stick brushed his hip as he dodged once more.

Quick as ever. He'd need to read her moves faster.

"For what?" she asked, continuing the conversation through the physical challenge. "You became a Gundam pilot to protect your family. That's what you told me." Tracking him, she thrust another right-handed jab that he blocked and countered with a swipe towards her abdomen. "So they wouldn't be caught up in it. But they already have been."

She jumped back to avoid the swipe of his stick and then immediately moved in again, right and then left. "They haven't had to fight," he corrected, blocking the sticks and backpedaling from the quick blows.

"You'd become a scapegoat again? Fight for them again? Finish dying for them, perhaps?" she wondered over another double-burst aimed lower this time.

"Better me than them," he defended, both vocally and physically. Instead of backpedaling again, he quickly stepped in as he knocked away her jabs and dipped as she tried to bring her right stick down towards him. This close he blocked her arm to arm instead and threw her swing backwards with as much strength as he had. Swinging his foot out, he caught her knees and took them out from under her.

He didn't have time to congratulate himself as she went down because she hit the floor rolling. Clearing out the way, Dorothy popped back to her feet before he had the chance to try to get a hold of her.

"You really believe that, don't you?" she accused, tossing her bound hair behind her back again as she eyed him and the short distance now between them. "You honestly think it's easier to be the survivor than the victim."

Her eyes narrowed and Quatre blinked away the sudden way his mind tried to see her in a purple spacesuit and a helmet. "I don't know if there is an 'easier,'" he honestly answered. "But if I can save someone, I will."

"You're selfish!" Lunging with her right hand he sidestepped the thrust only to have her round on him, bringing her left stick to collide with his elbow before he had time to react.

Thrown off guard he backpedaled again, trying to follow her mentality as well as her physical attacks as quickly as possible. "Why?"

"You know this but you never learned it," she stated, her voice eerily calm as she paused her advances, going so far as to lower her sticks to her sides. "Your father didn't betray his Colony's decision because he was afraid of OZ. He didn't want to die." She stared directly into his eyes, "He gave his life for his family. His son."

Quatre stood shock still, involuntarily watching the colony defense system open fire on the resource block right in front of his eyes.

"What did his family gain for it?" she finished.

The image of Wing ZERO's half completed framed flashed into mind, and along with that came the sickening feeling and the reel of mental tape as the first colony went up in a ball of fire. Heero. Trowa. The shroud of loss and guilt that he'd been plunged into came back in a nauseating wave that he tried to swallow back down.

He still couldn't voice that section of his life.

"_I have to. I have to stop it now."_ The words came back with images. The drops of blood that still dripped from Miss Becka's finger, her tears as his father pressed tightly on the wound.

"You know what it's like to be the survivor," Dorothy voice broke gently into his thoughts as his vision of her blurred a little. "But you've never stopped fighting. Why?"

Blinking back the images, he mentally counted his sisters. For a second he remembered that they were here for Nashita and Manul's wedding. And when it all cleared, he was still standing there, facing Dorothy.

"There's more than that." He didn't mean to but it only came out as a whisper.

Dropping into a ready position again, she launched first, her words almost lost in the slap of their sticks against each other. "Like what?"

Gnashing his teeth together, he blocked her and pushed her off. Attacking instantly he knocked her right stick out of her hand by sheer force. Reaching out, he physically grabbed her other in his hand and pulled her bodily to him with it. Spinning her around, he forced her arm across her chest. Tangled, she tripped with a gasp and he forced her back against him, pinning her there.

Bringing his left stick up he stopped it against her throat.

"Maybe it is selfish," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "Maybe it is easier to be the who dies then the one that grieves. I don't know," he admitted to her, knowing that in her own life it was her father that had lost his life trying to protect his little girl.

She still couldn't help but feel abandoned by the ones that had left her behind. And he couldn't blame her for that.

"But it's more than just my family," he continued. "I have friends that I care about more than my life. And there isn't one who wouldn't be fighting the same battle that I was. There isn't one that wouldn't fight. If it has to be one of us, I'll take the chance on it being me. Not because I'm selfish," he chided. "Because I believe in the lives that they could live if given the chance."

Quatre watched with clarity as she swallowed. His eyes trailed down the ivory of her neck, the collar bone that always seemed a little too pronounced, across her shoulder that he was leaning over, up her arm which was still crossed over her body and pinned against her because she hadn't released her hold on the stick yet.

"I believe in the survivors," he quietly confessed to her.

Closing his eyes he released his hold on the stick at her neck and let it fall to the floor. He also let go of the other and hers as well, dropping his arms to her sides. With a very light touch, he nudged at her to turn around. And without complaint, she slowly slid around and into his embrace.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and felt her return it, her chin settling on his shoulder. Bowing his face, he nuzzled lightly against her bare shoulder, the spaghetti strap of her top doing nothing to hinder him.

His precious girl. He'd do anything to prevent her from being hurt by war again.

"You're no exception," he added, his heart in his throat.

There was a small snort from her. "You die on me and I'll kill you," she mockingly threatened.

"You wouldn't forgive me," he mildly accused instead.

She didn't respond. Instead she lifted her head and softly moved a hand to run down the back of his head and neck. Quatre stayed bowed over her shoulder, but moved a hand to try and rub her back.

No, Dorothy wouldn't forgive him for dying, especially in something like another conflict. She'd think he abandoned her like everyone else in her life. He'd just become one more person that she'd let get too close before they left her.

His hand brushed her hair aside and gently touched her back, meeting warm skin. He hadn't noticed the back of her top being so low before. But still his hand leisurely traced down, meeting the edge of the fabric and continuing down to the small of her back and then up again, just as slowly.

What would happen to her? She had other friends, certainly had other things in her life to do and go back to. But he had no idea what it would do to her emotions. Her fragile trust.

His fingers grazed lovingly over her skin a second time as they moved up and then down. Just before he met cloth again she suddenly pulled back. "No I wouldn't," she finally agreed.

Quatre blinked his eyes back open and numbly let her slide out of his arms.

Turning away she didn't meet his eyes. "Would you forgive me?"

He noted that she'd never let go of her remaining practice stick.

If Dorothy's famous interventions into dangerous situations proved fatal to her someday…. "I'd try to," he mumbled. "But it'd hurt," he concluded.

To his surprise she actually chuckled at him. Bending down to pick up the match to her stick, she shook her head. "Don't worry. I seem to have a talent for outliving people."

Now that he noticed it he mapped the way the back of her top extended down to about mid-back and was tied with a thin piece of lace. "Is it selfish if I can't consider that a bad thing?"

Looking back over her shoulder at him she granted him a smile. "Yes."

Returning it, he shrugged. "I guess I have to live with being selfish then."

Rounding she marched back to him and waved both of the sticks in his face. "You'd better." Spinning away again her hair slapped his arm as she walked back to the edge of the mat. "After all, I need my partner. I'm really not very good with twin blades."

Trying to shake off the number of unpleasant topics that this rematch had brought up in him, he sighed at the topic change. "I think you did quite well."

"I was going easy on you. Don't want to irritate the shoulder."

"You were not," he accused, bending to pick up his pair of sticks as well.

"Maybe I wasn't."

"Doesn't matter, I still won," he teased, turning away so she wouldn't see the smile on his face, and headed back to pick up the string to tie the sticks with.

"No you didn't. You distracted me."

Yeah, like taking off her over-shirt wasn't supposed to distract him. "You were the one talking the whole time."

"I get the most honest answers that way."

"Honest or not, I still could have slit your throat," he concluded.

"…We'll call it a draw."

Getting the sticks tied he sighed in frustration and gave up. Turning he found her at the back wall replaced her pair, and tossed his to her. "We'll call it a good match," he emphasized.

With a shrug she put his back as well. "Sore loser," she muttered.

"What was that?" Getting his vest he went over and picked up her shirt for her as she collected her shoes.

"I said 'yes dear,'" she lied.

Walking past him, he would have let it go if she hadn't purposefully stuck her tongue out at him. So he retaliated by snapping their extra clothing at her, getting her to speed up to jog out the door, giggling at him.

And he wasn't about to let her get away with that. Racing after her, he caught the door jam to swing around out into the hallway—and smacked into her back.

He stopped short as he steadied himself and his confusion quickly gave way to horror.

Rasid stood about four feet in front of Dorothy with a box and clipboard in hand.

His expression at seeing Dorothy down here must have been odd but the wider Quatre's eyes got, the narrower his went.

Trying for all he was worth to snap his brain online, he took an inventory of the situation. Rasid had already seen Dorothy and himself alone in a restricted area for no reason. There was no possible escape route.

The next section of his brain clicked in as he very slowly tilted his eyes away from Rasid to her in front of him. She was still carrying her shoes, and he had her shirt, leaving her only in her top and paints.

Add to that that his vest was also off and…. He swallowed as he remembered his top button was undone.

A minuscule glance into the practice room reminded him that the only lights still on down here were the hallway and this room. …The one room with a mat on the floor.

Dorothy was going to have to learn to live without him after all.

* * *

"True remorse is never just a regret over consequence; it is a regret over motive." – Mignon McLaughlin, _The Neurotic's Notebook_.

AN: I realize that there are far more advanced techies's out there than me, so I will let you inform me on how wrong I was about the layout of the cockpit controls. I will do my best to revise that.

Sorry for the long delays. I'm not sure they will be getting shorter any time soon, but I will do my best. Thank you for sticking with me!


	55. Chapter 55

_Revelations_  
By Isis cw  
Chapter 55

Auda wouldn't miss this for a couple hours. Besides it was the last book in the series. Abdul was sure his friend wouldn't mind him borrowing it for a little while. He didn't even know where the guy had run off to. No harm done.

Settling in to a chair in the dining hall of the commons building, he tipped it back and propped one foot up on the table beside him. No one was around to find him. They wouldn't even know he was missing.

Laughing to himself over the antics of the comic book's main character, he flipped the page and continued on, happily enjoying it before the outside door flew open with a bang against the wall.

With a startled cry, Abdul quickly closed the book and hid it behind his back. "I didn't do it!" he called out automatically.

It took a second for him to identify the figure in the doorway. In the same way it obviously took a moment for the woman to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the interior as opposed to the outside sunlight.

"Mistress Dorothy!" he finally recognized with a relieved grin. "Hey."

"Abdul," she identified as she marched in, flinging the abused door shut behind her.

"Yeah," he nodded, letting his smile slip just a little.

With the door shut she took another look around the room and then moved directly for him. "What is the punishment for breaking a Maguanac rule?"

He blinked at her. "Wha-what do you mean?" he stuttered, a number of possibilities coming to mind unbidden. Unfortunately there was only one of those that involved Mistress Dorothy….

"What is the punishment?" she bit off each word distinctly as she crossed the room, stalking past the other tables.

"Frr-for what?" he tried. She wouldn't turn him in, would she? How did she even know?

However when her eyes narrowed at him, Abdul decided that maybe he'd rather face the rest of the Corp. instead of letting her take it out on him herself.

"OK, OK! I took the picture," he confessed as she closed in on him. "But it wasn't my idea to send it to the tabloids," he defended.

It was too late. In one move, Dorothy planted her foot on the front of his chair between his legs and stomped it back to all fours, grabbed a fist-full of his vest and nearly pulled him off the thing. "I already knew that!" she yelled, meet his wide eyes over his sunglasses.

"Ya-you did?" he stammered.

She blinked a second and actually softened, "Actually, no, I didn't." But just as quickly her eyes hardened again. "That's not what I asked you."

Abdul sat in a very compromised position in front her and his fear turned to panic when he realized he didn't actually remember the question anymore. "Uh, huh?"

With an angry sigh, Dorothy took another fist-full of his shirt and shook him. "What kind of soldier are you?"

"A pilot!" he answered her instantly. Somehow that didn't sound like the right question though.

With a hiss she stopped and leaned in closer, actually pushing her knee into his upper chest. "What is the punishment for breaking a Maguanac rule?"

"U-uh…" he stalled. "Depends?" he tried, making it come out as a question instead of an answer.

"On?" she prodded.

Abdul swallowed. "What I did?" he meekly squeaked.

"Taking a civilian into the base," she snapped.

He blinked, stopping the painful line of thought he'd been on. "No I didn't," he answered honestly.

"Not you!" she yelled. With a sigh, she loosened her hold on him a little. "What is the punishment for it?" she started over.

"Oh," he breathed a sigh of relief. With a nervous laugh he figured he was actually going to live through this. "Aw, that's a misdemeanor," he tried to wave it off with her eyes still boring into him. "It's not like breaking conduct. They just set you down in front of the Corp. and shame you into promising not to do it again."

"You're sure?" she shook him one more time for good measure.

"Yeah, yeah! It's been done a hundred times," he held up his hands in surrender to make her believe him.

With a sigh, Dorothy finally released him and stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her.

Readjusting his clothing, Abdul watched her carefully. "So… what's the deal?" he cautiously asked when she didn't seem to be forthcoming with any explanation.

"Does it have to go before the Corp.?" she quietly asked, her expression working from anger to worry.

Raising an eyebrow, he finally stood up and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Yeah. It's basically a public grilling. Makes a pretty good deterrent having your forty best friends give you dirty looks," he chuckled at the joke.

Mistress Dorothy didn't seem to get the humor though.

He only blinked at her. "Who took who into the base?" Wait a minute. How did she know about the base? "No… who took _you_ into the base," he accused, a smile starting to form again. "Aaaah!" He pointed at her teasingly. "Mistress got someone in trouble," he sing-songed.

She rounded on him and in the blink of an eye tore the book he was still holding out of his hand and smacked him upside the head with it.

Abdul turned back with a pout at her, his glasses a bit off kilter. It wasn't much of a slap, he'd had worse, but it was just the principle.

However, Mistress Dorothy wasn't even bothering to give him the satisfaction of looking at his crestfallen appearance. Instead she just shoved the book back into his chest for him to take.

It was then that he noticed the crease. "Aaaw!" he yelled, taking the thing in both hands and quickly caressing down the spine, willing the crinkle in the covers to go away. "No, no, no, no," he mumbled to it.

He smoothed it as best he could and then held it up to the light, hoping it would still look new. …No such luck.

"That's sad," Dorothy mumbled at him as he collapsed into his chair and stared down at the lightly scarred thing.

Raising his eyes to her, he glared over his glasses at her until she flinched. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't realize you had such a hard head."

With a deflated sigh, he grumbled unintelligibly under his breath and tried to come up with a good excuse to tell Auda.

He didn't get that far before he noticed Dorothy's shirt. "Um, Mistress?"

"What?"

Pointing over, he touched the tag that was sticking out from the side hem a couple inches from the bottom of her shirt.

"Oh," she mumbled. Turning away, she paced back towards the door, taking the shirt off to turn it right-side-out.

Abdul followed her movements, finding it odd that someone so meticulous about her appearance would have overlooked that all day. It wasn't like…. "Mistress?" he quietly called.

"Hum?"

He watched her pull the shirt back on and then rose to his feet slowly. "…Who took you into the base?" he carefully asked.

Bitterly she glanced back at him, but then sighed in resignation. "Quatre," she admitted. "I talked him into it. He shouldn't be the one in trouble for it."

Abdul swallowed, staring openly at her. "Who found you?"

"Rasid," she sighed again, and then squeezed her eyes shut as though trying not to re-live that.

He stood frozen a second and then cautiously moved forward, raising both hands in front of him. "Mistress… Lady… Dorothy. You have to tell me something."

She turned to watch him creep forward towards her and blinked at him. "What?"

"Now, don't take this wrong," he carefully told her. "Just answer."

"What?" she raised an eyebrow.

"It's just that I have to know," he went on.

"Abdul!" she barked.

"What were you doing?" he cringed.

"What was I what?"

Coming up, he placed both hands on her shoulders and looked down at her with, what he hoped was, compassion. "What were the two of you doing?"

Dorothy stared at him oddly and shrugged. "Sparing, actually."

Abdul blinked and thought about that for a second, not sure if that answered the question he was looking for. Shaking that forcefully out of his head, he re-focused. "Say that again?"

"I challenged him to a sparring match. You guys' rules," she shrugged under his hands again. "Is that against code too?"

With a heavy sigh of relief, he lowered his head. "Nope. That's not," he laughed and looked at her again. "But when your shirt was inside-out I had to start worrying," he grinned at her with a suggestive wink.

Dorothy started to shake her head at him in confusion before she froze. Going a little worried, he watched her eyes widen in panic. "He wouldn't think…" she whispered.

"Huh? Who?"

"Rasid. He wouldn't think…." That was as far as she was obviously going to go as she turned towards the door.

"Whoa," he clamped his hands down on her shoulders to keep her from bolting. "You said the Captain caught you, right? What's to believe?" he tried to laugh it off.

"We were on our way back," she continued, her voice still whispering. "He'd never think..." Dorothy looked first down at herself and then up at him, sickened.

Abdul cursed in front of her.

* * *

Quatre was numb. His system was still in shock; his thoughts hadn't gone back to normal yet. There were too many implications to take in all at once.

So when Rasid pointed him to the chair, he simply sat down and waited. There hadn't been a sound made directly between the two. When confronted with the inevitable, Quatre had been the one to ask Dorothy to leave the base on her own. He hadn't left room for any argument, and Rasid had barely glanced in her direction as she uncertainly slipped past him towards the stairs.

Being ignored like that had probably unnerved her.

Rasid obviously didn't feel the need to speak to him either. Or he was so furious he didn't trust his voice at the moment. Both were equally reasonable assumptions. Rasid had simply led him up another exit closer to the community buildings, and directly to Command Sada'ul's "office."

"Oh dear. What do we have here?" the cheery voice unknowingly walked into the thick silence that shrouded the room

Quatre waited a couple heartbeats to see if Rasid was actually going to open his trail. He didn't.

Instead, Quatre rose to his feet and waited for the Commander to curiously walk around to the front of his desk and look up at him. "Sir…" he hesitated, not knowing how to voice any of this. "I'm here for reprimand," he quietly confessed, avoiding the man's eyes.

It didn't matter, he still saw the glance Sada'ul threw in Rasid's direction at the back of the room. "Oh? What for, my boy?"

"Uh, well, Sir…" he stalled.

"Spit it out and be specific, son," he commanded, snapping his hands together behind his back.

Swallowing, Quatre took a deep breath. "I knowingly took a civilian into the base without cause, Sir," he answered.

There was a very low rumble of warning from behind him, but Quatre stood his ground and left it at that, finally meeting his Commander's eyes. Whatever Rasid thought had been going on, this was the truth and it was all he was going to state.

Commander Sada'ul seemed to wait for a second or two before he blinked and then looked back at Rasid again. "Lady Dorothy?" he asked, specifically looking back at him.

Quatre nodded curtly.

Pursing his lips, Sada'ul glanced between them again and then nodded and turned to pace around his desk to stand behind it. "I see. You're familiar with why we discourage that, aren't you, Quatre?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You are also familiar with the punishment for it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Anything else you want to tell me?"

"No, Sir."

"Rasid would you please step out and close the door?"

Quatre wasn't expecting that. Uneasily he listened to the man comply, not daring to let himself turn to watch the other leave. When the door had shut, Commander Sada'ul took a seat and leaned in over his folding table of a desk.

"Anything else you'd like to tell me now?" he asked curiously.

Quatre blinked down at him. "I'm not sure that Rasid believes that being the in the base was all I needed to confess to," he answered quietly. "It is," he specified a little more forcefully.

With a nonchalant nod, the Commander pursed his lips again in thought. "I'm sure, I'm sure." Looking towards the door and back, he leaned in even closer towards him, a conniving smile slipping onto his face. "Well? Did ya get anywhere?"

* * *

"His sister is getting married to one of the Corp. This is a terrible time to reprimand him."

"That's no excuse," Rasid gruffly pronounced.

Sada'ul sighed at the attitude and nodded to himself, walking over to the wall to look over the pictures he kept of the former Corp. members from the various years. "You've always been harder on him than the others, Rasid."

"He knows better."

"Quatre is special. You saw that right away, I know you did," he answered. "The boy has led this group as well as you or I."

"And he should be conscious of what the others see in him."

"Rasid," he turned to look up at the bitterly frowning man. "Perhaps the boy is just tired of being too mature for his age."

"Being infatuated isn't a reason to decide that now," Rasid returned.

"Infatuated?" he blinked and then laughed whole-heartedly at the mild idea. Walking over, he placed his hands behind his back and looked up at his second in command. "Don't start underestimating him now," he chided with a chuckle.

The other simply waited, his arms still crossed stubbornly over his chest.

Sada'ul flashed him a smile. "No one can predict what a woman's influence will do to a man, even to a soldier. Quatre is doing the best he can," he reasoned with a nod. "He hasn't backed down, and he hasn't given up. And you should know he's not going to either."

Rasid's expression slipped at the rebuttal, obviously unsure how he deserved this.

Turning away, Sada'ul moved back to the pictures on the wall again. "Without meaning to, a man will fight friends and family for a woman he loves. If not, it wouldn't be worth it."

The room remained quiet a moment until Rasid's low growl of a sigh finally came. "Did it have to be her?"

He tried to keep down the laugh. "Is there anyone better for her?" he happily challenged.

With a weary look, the Captain shook his head. "I'm not worried about her."

* * *

"And you had better hope that this makes up for your little indiscretion," she finished, staring each one of them down in turn.

"Yes, Ma'am!" they snapped in unison.

Auda still couldn't figure out how Mistress Dorothy knew they were behind that story in the tabloid, but he wasn't about to ask her. He also couldn't figure out what she was doing with his comic book.

Ahmed was a little more concerned with what she was going to do to them if they somehow failed this mission. He was also wondering what he'd originally come back to the barracks for when they'd been cornered.

Abdul stood at attention, praying that Mistress Dorothy wouldn't give him away to Auda for stealing the comic like she'd promised if he came up with a way to help.

Manul knew if he laughed, or even got caught smiling, she was going to kill him. The murderous speech she'd just thrown at them was all a cleaver bluff and he knew it. So the Lady was so concerned that she'd resorted to blackmail. Interesting.

Dorothy was prepared for anything. If the situation required a trade of hostages she would have had no trouble handing over the whole group of them in exchange for Quatre. But according to them this was all she could do. And she hated only having one option. Especially one that relied solely on someone else. She had no idea if this was going to do more harm than good either.

And she didn't appreciate the looks they were giving her.

* * *

Quatre kept a low profile while the group was called. There were too many "happy" preparations going on for the Commander to put this off. The final members of the Corp. had arrived this morning. His indiscretion would be publicized to a full house.

He couldn't have picked a better time to prove he was an idiot if he tried.

What was he thinking? How did he expect this to end?

Sighing in irritation with himself, he stood up and opened the shutter over the window, letting the hot air waft in.

So what was worse, break the trust of the entire family or leave Dorothy disappointed with him?

He placed both hands on the dry, cracked wood of the window shutter and leaded against it to keep it open as he stared down at the few people wandering around the open square outside. Idly he let the question float through his disgusted thoughts. Almost unconsciously his left palm rubbed against the rough wood.

The logical answer was that he'd disappointed far more people by allowing her the whim. The sentimental answer was that the guys would probably get over it faster. The intelligent thing would have been to ask her to wait until after the ceremony when many of the Maguanacs would leave again ahead of them, and therefore cut down on the chance of discovery.

The right thing would have been to tell her no.

He hadn't ended up doing her any favors. The only thing his public chastising would do was cast Dorothy into controversy with him. None of the guys bothered with the fact that there was still nothing between them. They would all jump to conclusions.

Conclusions of what? That he was smitten and just couldn't say no to her? Truth hurts, doesn't it?

Dropping his head, he knew getting angry with himself wasn't going to help. Nothing would at this point. He could only take his punishment and hope they would give the two some level of respectful distance.

They wouldn't.

A sharp pain in his hand stopped him from thinking any further. Pulling it back, he frowned down at the splinter wedged into his skin at the base of his ring finger. Letting himself draw a deep breath, he forced calm in his thoughts again and stood away from the window, letting the shutter slam closed with a bang.

Focusing on the splinter, he carefully tried to remove the piece of wood, but only got half of it. Working at it longer only managed to draw blood and remind him that the smallest cuts were some of the most painful.

The thing would work out on its own; it wasn't worth it to force it.

Sitting down in a chair next to the window, he tried to ignore it, but the longer he tried the more it irritated him. The more it irritated him, the more he picked at it. And of course the more he picked at it, the more it irritated him.

The door opening startled him out of his fruitless attempts. Looking up, he met Rasid's eyes as the elder man held the door open and waited.

Glancing at his hand again, he figured that at least the stupid splinter had distracted him long enough.

Wiping the wound clean with his other hand, he rose and moved to follow wherever the Captain was going to head. Silently he figured he should be thankful that Rasid was taking this so hard or the man would probably be trying to give him another "fatherly" speech.

They slipped by each other without a word again and Rasid led him down the hallways and into the community dining hall. Quatre knew the drill. This wasn't the first time he was officially reprimanded. The first of course had been a little nobler though. He'd taken one of his first missions with Sandrock as a solo, leaving behind the Corp. without a word. The guys hadn't appreciated that to say the least, but he just didn't feel that he could always involve them.

He hadn't kept the promise he'd made that day to not take chances on his own like that again. He supposed they understood and forgave him for it though, because no one had ever made an issue of it after the war.

This probably wouldn't go over quite so well. Rasid had been the one to calm the others down last time. Quatre didn't figure he'd have that luxury now.

Reaching the doorway, Rasid opened it for him. Bracing himself, Quatre continued on only to have his pace falter when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Stumbling to a stop, he looked up at Rasid. For a second the man merely looked back, the disappointment that he typically carried when Quatre wasn't taking care of himself showing through. At least it had softened considerably.

But Rasid turned slowly towards the room they were about to enter and Quatre realized that Commander Sada'ul was already in the process of stating his breach of conduct. Without meaning to, he quietly sighed, his shoulders sagging under the hold of his friend.

Rasid didn't waiver though, and whether he meant to or not, his presence was oddly comforting.

On cue, he was nudged on and Quatre entered the room amid a robust din of conversation over the crime. He told himself that he didn't care what they said. He'd make his apologies and let it wash off him again. It was done and over.

At least that was what he told himself.

The admission of the breach of conduct hadn't included the name of the "civilian" but one name slowly rose to the top of the men's conversation and accusations. He knew that wouldn't take long.

But oddly enough as he took a seat in the chair set out for him, the conversation began to shift as he tried to appear that he was listening to the reprimands that he was getting. There was a question raised, and then the same one again, and again.

"Mistress Dorothy?"

"Does she count as a civilian?"

"Technically—"

"Technically nothing. She's basically one of us."

"That doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"We can't judge her the same as—"

"That's not the point."

"Why not?"

"It's not."

Before long the whole room had broken into group debate over Dorothy's right to see the base and her category as a civilian. Quatre only sat in mild confusion. They really were missing the point to this. Her reputation aside, she still didn't have authorization to be taken into the base.

Commander Sada'ul seemed a little lost at the mess this had turned into and flashed him a smile. "Maybe I should have invited her to this too then," he joked.

The crowd died down at the comment and quickly chuckles turned into laughs. Taunting wasn't far behind as the guys dove into the reasons for taking her there alone. He tried to fend them off at first and then just slowly sunk down in the chair as much as possible as the suggestive comments started, mixed with the loud and depraved accusations.

It was a good thing someone was having fun with this.

* * *

Quatre had withered into a blushing, stuttering mess by the time Abdul and Manul led a charge through the others and hauled him physically to his feet again. With Auda and Ahmed running interference the four bodily escorted him out of the building, laughingly telling him to run for it.

Once outside, he breathed in the hot desert air and tried to calm his fried nerves. Auda looped an arm around his shoulders, and shook him merrily back and forth until Quatre yelped in pain as his bruised shoulder was irritated again.

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled before the smirk came back. "Good thing we were there to help you out, huh?"

Quatre looked up him confused a second until he figured that at least he was out of earshot from the conversation still flying around. "I guess."

"I have to admit, that was probably the least hostile reprimand I've seen," Ahmed seemed to congratulate himself.

"What were you watching?" Quatre muttered at him indignantly. They'd all just insinuated things that he'd been forcing himself not to imagine for the last six months. The whole group "discussion" had degenerated to the point where Rasid's stern throat-clearings weren't even doing any good. If Dorothy knew half of what was said in that room she'd… well, probably laugh, but it still wasn't proper.

"It could have been worse," Manul added.

"Yeah, we're good," Abdul sighed, lacing his fingers behind his head and leading them towards their rooms.

"You're what?" Quatre blinked at them.

The group laughed as they entered the barracks and turned down the hallway. "We'll say you got off lucky," Manul tossed over his shoulder.

"How do you figure that?"

"They're going to give you crap about it no matter what, at least you avoided having to listen to the 'angry lectures,'" Abdul mimicked and then waved it off.

"You'd know," Ahmed threw back at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always in trouble."

"And you about took us with you this time," Auda growled at him.

"It wasn't my fault," he defended as they reached the door to the room he and Quatre shared.

"Notice she went to you first," Manul observed.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he specifically brushed it off and turned to open the door to the room. "But can ya please call her off now?" he winked at him over his sunglasses.

Quatre didn't have the chance to ask what they were talking about before Auda moved his arm and not-so-gently shoved him through the doorway. "Delivered as ordered," he called after him.

He watched Abdul shut the door behind him, and the hair on the back of his neck rose as he figured out he wasn't alone. Swallowing down the miserable sigh he felt, he turned to find Dorothy leaning against the window in the center of the cramped little room.

"…Hi," he slowly began, realizing that didn't sound intelligent. In all of this, he'd never bothered to figure out what to say to her.

"You look shell shocked," she stated. "Apparently they didn't help as much as they thought they could."

Shaking himself out of it, Quatre threw a glace back at the door. Muffled laughs could still be heard bleeding through it. If they'd been trying to undermine the group's discussion, they had probably succeeded in confusing the issue enough to thwart any harsh reprimand. "They did," he conceded. Flashing her a guilty smile, he tried to squash down the nervousness she'd inspired all of a sudden. "There just wasn't much they could do."

She still didn't move. She just sat there against the window ledge and seemed to be sizing him up. If she was trying to make him self-conscious she was doing an excellent job at it.

The silence went from uncomfortable to maddening as he tried to come up with something to say to her. He couldn't apologize, that just didn't seem right. Besides, if pressed to admit it… he really wasn't sorry for taking her.

For a second he closed his eyes and let the images commit themselves to memory. Her fascination with the base, the near giddy enjoyment of the MS training pod, their debate and make-shift rematch. …The feel of her in his arms, her skin under his fingertips.

"It's alright," Quatre softly assured, opening his eyes again. It was stupid and he'd be regretting it for months, but he'd done it for her. There was no apology for that. At least not one he could find right now. Stepping forward, he tried to let it wash off him. "It's alright," he repeated, meeting her eyes and stopping in front of her.

Dorothy looked up at him, not daring to turn away from him. It wasn't alright. She didn't care that he obviously believed what he was saying, it wasn't alright. This was all because of her and he didn't deserve to take the blame.

Her eyes fell away from his finally as the words slipped from her lips. "I'm sorry."

"Dorothy—"

Shaking her head, she stood away from the window to cut him off. It was the worst apology she could make to him and she knew it. For once, she was honestly ashamed of herself, and leaving it at that, she moved to slip past him to the door.

As her shoulder brushed his, he grabbed her hand and held it, stopping her roughly in place. Something snapped in her with that contact. Meeting his eyes once more, his grip held her there against his side.

"I'm not apologizing," he softly confirmed before he turned away again. "I knew what I was doing."

All this time, she'd had one goal with him. One desire towards Quatre Raberba Winner. Dorothy had promised herself to be good for him. She'd sworn, in some fashion, to look after him.

She'd failed that. Fear of something she couldn't name claimed her for a moment as she watched him continue his line of thought. She didn't even hear what he said, but it burned nonetheless. _"I can never say no to you."_ When had she come to mean so much to him that he'd abandon his sense of right and wrong for her? When had she wanted him to?

Leaning in, she hesitated a moment, the nagging fear centered in her chest still. Inch by inch she turned against his side, something in her worried that he'd pull back. Swallowing, she brushed her nose against his cheek, the tenderest apology that she could muster right now.

To her relief Quatre moved towards her, allowing the contact and seeming to appreciate it. Her eyes closed on their own as she stood there a moment, silent and thankful he still accepted her.

There, against his side, she no longer knew what to do, how to help, what to believe she was even doing with him. He didn't need any of it, and she was too ashamed of herself to even blunder another apology.

Softly his grip on her hand softened and before long their hands had worked their way to barely a touch. If he thought he was keeping her here, he was wrong. Dorothy stayed until she felt the quiet close in on them again. Finally she opened her eyes only enough see where she was, and then shifted to raise her lips to his cheek.

He let her, but she didn't care if she had permission or not. Her light kiss lingered and she didn't stop herself. Perhaps it was only a simple kiss on the cheek, but it was the most emotion she had ever given to a man. There was nothing simple about what she needed to say with it.

Quatre knew it instinctually. He could feel it somehow. When she pulled away the impulse was to pull her into his arms and coax her into a real kiss. Coax her into believing it was really alright.

But he also knew that she wouldn't accept it.

When she slipped away, this time he let her go. If he pressured her to understand now, she may never work it out for herself.

She was out the door before he tried to compose himself again as a round of bantering came from the guys who were still waiting outside.

* * *

Night fell quickly in the desert. In a few minutes the sun was gone and the temperature dropped quickly after it. Dorothy welcomed it. She'd spend the rest of the afternoon basically trying to stay out of sight from anything male. Of course it wouldn't be long before this story spread to the women of the village too.

The teasing little happy looks that kept getting thrown in her direction were unnerving her.

Hypocrite. She was a great one to be annoyed at being teased.

A cheery tune came humming around the corner she was working behind. She told herself she wasn't hiding, it was just a convenient place to piece together a few of the wedding decorations. Just because it was out of direct view from the slowly filling central square was just coincidence.

"Dorothy," Nashita happily announced her to the rest of the world beyond. "What are you doing? Come on."

"Where am I going?" she muttered without even looking up from the intricate tulle bow she was working on. Annoying happy people and their stupid wedding.

She needed chocolate.

"Weird Maguanac tradition time," the other chuckled. "Come on, they told me I had to pick five women. I need you."

Finally blinking out of her bitter inner monologue, she looked up at the women in question. "Excuse me?"

Rolling her eyes, Nashita walked around and offered her a hand to help her up off the rock floor. "I promise you can do the bows tomorrow," she snickered at her. "You get to pick on Manul, and I know how much you enjoy that," she cajoled.

Dorothy really didn't think she enjoyed being patronized, and she was definitely being called out on purpose. "Who told you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes up at the bride-to-be.

With a guilty look that didn't seem all that sincere, she only extended her hand farther. "Small village," she smiled.

With a frustrated sigh Dorothy chucked the half-finished bow back into the pile of others she'd completely and slapped her hand into the other woman's. Nashita pulled her up and dragged her around the corner wall out towards the square before releasing her.

The well at the center of the area was surrounded by a wide basin. Although she was sure it wasn't actually used, it still made a nice focal point. Following Nashita they wondered through the crowd to the middle amid cheers. She began to notice that the women of the village were secluding themselves off to one side and the men, mostly led by the Maguanac soldiers, were settling themselves into comfy positions on the other.

What, instead of tossing the bouquet they were going to have a tug-o-war?

From the opposite side of the courtyard Manul led a group along towards the center as well, a cheer rising from the men for him. Quatre tagged along, looking as excited about this as Dorothy felt.

"You actually expect me to do any good against my sister?" he was still arguing.

"You're family and I need the leverage," Manul retorted before figuring out they could hear them.

"You're going to need more than my little brother to make me kiss you in front of all of these witnesses," Nashita tossed back, flipping her hair back as they passed by.

"Well don't go easy on me, it'd be out of character for you," Manul called after them.

"I think I missed the briefing," Dorothy muttered as she watched Quatre try to bite back his smile and shake his head.

"Simple," Nashita announced as they joined Iria and two other women she'd met during the wedding preparations. "Maguanac code of ethics states that a woman must consent knowingly and willingly to a marriage. Why they've needed that since the introduction of the drive-through wedding chapel, I don't know," she waved it off. "But to ensure that a bride knows what she's getting herself into, it is tradition for her groom to get her to kiss him in the center of the town square."

"And that's supposed to prove what?" Dorothy blinked at her.

"If you don't like him enough to kiss him by now, maybe you should postpone," Iria agreed.

"No, no, no," one of the others interjected. Myria was Auda's baby sister, and the girl who had helpfully given Dorothy the ponytail holders her first day here. Being a local, she was helping advise where necessary. "The point is for him to woo her into kissing him. Our job as Nashita's witnesses is to make sure that she knows all of the faults of the man she is about to marry."

Raising an eyebrow, Dorothy crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, what fun," she purred, tossing a glance in the men's direction.

The others only laughed at her, and Myria continued. "The men's job is to make Manul seem like the best husband a woman could ask for and get her to kiss him."

"Not with that group he's not," Nashita ventured, looking over the Maguanac members he'd chosen to help him out.

"This could be a long night," Iria ventured.

"It's no fun if she doesn't string him along a little," Myria giggled at herself.

For some reason, Dorothy felt better already.

* * *

Manul's sure-fire profession of love, that he'd worked on for the past week and had a written copy of just in case, had been thwarted by line three by the pack of girls. The man obviously did not know the viciousness of the women he was dealing with. Quatre was actually embarrassed for the guy but couldn't find a way to refute the other side fast enough to help.

Getting into a debate with Dorothy was bad enough. Pairing her up between women that knew every aspect of Manul's life and giving them free reign at it was impossible.

"Could we move past the fact that I'm an anal perfectionist? We've established that," Manul sighed in bitter resignation instead of even trying to battle that point any longer.

"You should be taking that as a compliment, Nashita," he tried. "He wouldn't marry someone he didn't find perfect."

The crowd cheered in the background as his sister faulted and then took a step closer. "Well I can't argue with that kind of logic," she admitted.

The invisible line in the center of the area remained the boundary between them until Nashita herself broke it to finally kiss him. Inch by precious inch, they had succeeded in coaxing her closer.

"Thank you," Manul nodded back towards him.

"Oh, way to schmooze," Dorothy rolled her eyes behind her charge, and he laughed despite himself. He had no doubts that she'd rise to a challenge like this, and although rooting for them underneath, she was causing more grief than the others put together.

Typical, he reasoned.

"You know, if you'd let Quatre talk for you, you'd be on your honeymoon by now," Myria popped in, giggling to herself.

Hoots and calls rose from the women's section and Quatre tried to slouch down behind the others.

"Who knew being sappy had an advantage?" Dorothy threw into the mix.

"Hey, leave your personal affairs out of this," Manul dismissed it, holding up his hands to stop the comeback.

This time the crowd's response was primarily centered on the men's side and was anything but encouraging.

"Not what I meant!" Manul waved it off quickly, trying to control the outburst. It died down, and Quatre tried to visually play it off. He didn't dare look at Dorothy for her reaction though. The comments stung enough as it was.

Obviously not getting what the crowd was so worked up about, Iria simply continued. "Manul can be sappy too," she defended. Not exactly getting her part as an agitator, most of her comments had actually worked in Manul's favor. "Remember his poem," she happily encouraged with a laugh.

A stunned silence filtered through the ranks as Nashita clamped her hands over her mouth and Manul stared at her in shock.

Quatre exchanged glances with his teammates and turned back. "Poem?"

Iria took a guilty look around and then slipped over a couple steps to sort of hide behind Dorothy. And for her part, Dorothy was giggling, and then chuckling, and then broke out in a full high-pitched cackle.

And the whole crowd followed her.

"You told her?" Manul quietly asked through the uproar. Incredulously he threw up his hands in defeat.

"I had to," Nashita defended. "It was just so sweet, I had to share."

"I did that once. Once!" he reiterated loudly to the rest of the groups. "That's it."

Taking a couple more precious steps forward, she moved to stand directly in front of him. "And I loved it, remember?"

"You'd better have," he stated. "I'm a perfectionist. It took me forever."

"And I appreciate that," she nodded reassuringly.

"Apparently everyone else got to appreciate it too," he bitterly threw a look in Iria's direction.

"Sorry," she called out from over Dorothy's shoulder.

"Come on, Nashita, are you really going to marry a man that writes love poems?" Dorothy teased.

"Poem," he stressed the singular quantity of the word.

"Yes," Nashita quietly nodded, looking up at her intended. "Yes, I am."

Softening again, Manul returned her look. "If I can do that, I'll do anything for you. I love you."

Leaning in, she raised her face to his, but stopped just short. He waited, surprised until she whispered, "I love you too." Closing the distance, she kissed him.

The applause erupted as he wrapped both arms around her and continued her kiss. The groups breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated each other.

And somewhere in the celebration, Quatre turned to look back at the happy couple. Just past them though, he caught Dorothy's eyes for a moment before they both turned away.

* * *

Dorothy laid awake still, watching as the sliver of moonlight crept over her from the propped open window shutter. For some reason she just couldn't close her eyes.

Instead, she studied her own hand in the strip of light, occasionally moving it just a bit to watch the facets of the ring sparkle.

It wasn't the first time she had studied the object with her thoughts lost in rather unpleasant topics, but it was the first time that they had taken such a drastic turn.

Quatre.

Forget all of the sentimental crap about her parents. They were dead. Just like always, Dorothy was the one left alive. What did it actually matter what happened to them? It wasn't like their marriage had somehow doomed them both to horrible deaths. It wasn't that loving each other had been so wrong. It wasn't that having a manipulative, arrogant, stupid little girl was their fault….

How dare she?

Quatre. The man had never done a single thing to harm her. Ever. He wasn't even capable of it. And not only had he never had a thought enter his mind to hurt her, he had done everything within the very limit of his power to be nice to her. To be helpful.

The bloody man was too naive.

And for all of his efforts he had never once asked a thing of her in return. Never. He'd put up with her snotty attitude, her endlessly pointless debates, her short temper, her meaningless philosophy, and for what? Her infamous advice wasn't that good and she gave lousy pep talks.

Didn't matter. Quatre would probably insist that she was somehow a wonderful attribute to his life and absolutely necessary to his sense of well-being for some stupid reason.

Why did she always try to convince herself that he shouldn't care about her? He just did. Get over it. The masochistic idiot had gotten himself entangled so tightly to her that he probably didn't even think about it anymore. He was stuck. As stuck to her as she was to him.

With a sigh Dorothy only blinked her dry eyes, still watching the light glint off the ring.

She seemed to fight so hard to keep them separated. But the truth was that when they were together, her resolve always failed.

He'd worn her down. Actually, they had worn on each other. Two diamonds in the rough, to use cliché. At first they grated against each other, their attitudes and differences clashing painfully. But the more they were tumbled around each other the more they rubbed off.

Slowly they had polished each other. Dorothy had somehow learned to hold a comforting side, regardless of if it was actually good for much. Quatre had been shaped and armed against the corporate and social wolves, as much as he ever used it.

Their differences had softened and broken down, their dialogs turning teasing and actually rather sweet. They knew each other's fears and blind spots. Though their attitudes still clashed, their thoughts had grown intimate.

That was part of what annoyed her. Her thoughts had always been strictly her own all of her life. Now, Dorothy had someone that knew her. Knew her so well it often still surprised her. She wasn't even sure how he'd done it. He'd seduced her mind at some point and she'd never thought to reject him.

Sweet temptation. He'd been subtle, slow, with a gentle caress. While she worried about corrupting him, he'd taken advantage of her hesitation and subdued her.

Quatre Raberba Winner was no angel. Oh, he acted the part. Sweet, kind, beautiful. He had the wings alright, but there was no hallow. More than a saint's patience, he had the devil's persistence. If he'd been malicious, she would have known, would have resisted. Instead, she'd been focused on the outside, on those around them that always seemed to be pushing her in one way or another.

He was her refuge, her foundation. He was simply life as she had come to know it. He'd convinced her was she was safe with him.

Dorothy's eyes drifted closed.

Safe. Warm. Tender. He always seemed so fragile to her. His heart was bottomless but made of glass. Was she only bitter? Bitter that he'd won? If it was a battle of temptations was there any true victory to be had?

Slowly her hand retreated from the moonlight into the welcoming warmth of the blankets.

What did defeat actually mean?

* * *

"Kisses are like tears, the only real ones are the ones you can't hold back." - Author Unknown

AN: Thank you so much for sticking with these stories! I would get all of you dear readers a Valentine's present, but I guess this is going to have to count as sweet enough. Less fat and fewer calories!


	56. Chapter 56

AN: I can't begin to thank my reviewers enough. I try every chapter, and you all just keep finding ways to make it more difficult to express my gratitude. From those that have just stumbled onto this massive endeavor and who have spent days getting through it all, to those who have been there since the beginning and still ask for more. Again, my most heartfelt thank you and apologies for all the delays.

_Revelations  
_Chapter 56  
By Isis

She was ignoring him.

She was intentionally ignoring him.

Purposefully ignoring him.

Why?

Angry? No, she wasn't one to shy away from confrontation.

Upset? Probably a given considering.

Scared? It rang true somehow. But of what?

Of him? Of the rumors running rampant around the village?

Rumors. They couldn't be helping the situation.

Everyone talks too loud around here. Secrets don't flourish in the desert.

Sighing in misery, Quatre tried again to focus. His thoughts were scattered and sluggish and somehow timing themselves in between the loud snores coming from the bed on the other side of the room. Abdul really was a good friend, but after three nights of this Quatre was about to take his pillow and go sleep out in the middle of the hallway for more peace than this room offered.

So, since he wasn't asleep he bided his time with thoughts of Dorothy. And why she seemed to have spent the entire day anywhere but near him. After he began to notice it, he'd probably done the wrong thing by trying to get her alone for a moment or two. It hadn't worked and before he knew it, she'd turned in for the night already.

Maybe she was just trying to let this whole thing blow over. It made sense. But right now the only person here who wasn't making their little jaunt into the base into something it wasn't, was her, and he was feeling a little alone at this by himself. This whole fiasco was more punishment than he deserved for such a mundane crime.

* * *

Dorothy had intended to turn in early considering she didn't sleep well the night before. In all honesty the heat was getting to her and she'd begun to feel dizzy by the time the sun set and she wandered back to their housing. 

Of course, she'd mistaken Iria's question of whether she was feeling alright for simple concern instead of a doctor's observation.

So now she sat on the floor of Nashita's room watching a nervous bride-to-be pace about and happily keep a constantly buzzing conversation going. It was such a heart-warming display of a delightful, love-struck young woman that Dorothy found it mildly nauseating.

Either that or it was the fourth bottle of water that Iria was making her drink.

So far ten out of the twenty-nine Winner women were assembled in the little village and they were all neatly packed into one small bedroom. Dorothy was somehow thrust into the mix by sheer dumb luck, she assumed. However, it was an interesting insight into Muslim marriages and ceremonies as she did also get to sit in on the… Manchi—Monjhi—Moneha—Manjha! That was it.

It had to be getting late.

Anyway, being an unwed woman she was allowed to help apply some odd smelling paste to the bride while some of the more artistic women traced patterns of Henna on her hands and feet. That was of course if they could get her to sit still.

Nashita was apparently as ticklish as Quatre was.

Also apparent was the fact that none of his sisters in this room knew he was ticklish… before Dorothy so _eloquently_ informed them.

Raising her water bottle she took a swig to choke down some of the bitter discomfort and tried to tell herself she wasn't embarrassed.

No, nothing like blurting out an admission to having determined that a man is ticklish to a third of his family. How did something so pathetically innocence sound so kinky in the wrong crowd? Aleigha probably saw visions of fuzzy handcuffs.

She'd been reduced to a pervert.

Why was she sitting here playing nice with his sisters anyway? Trying again to stifle a yawn, she nodded absently as Nashita came up with one more thing they needed to help her remember tomorrow. The list was hopeless by now anyway.

"What's all this?"

Dorothy turned purely because the rest of the room did, and found one of the P twins—as she'd been referring to them in her head since she couldn't keep track of full names yet—digging through one of several boxes stacked inauspiciously in the corner.

"Quatre brought those for us," Nashita responded, walking back to flop down on the bed, disrupting four of her sisters who were sitting there already. "He went through some of Father's stuff and decided we should each have our own things that he'd kept."

The woman riffling through the boxes stopped in her tracks like she'd seen a ghost. "What?"

"You mean Quatre found all of that?"

"Oh, I don't want to see it."

"Why not?" Nashita happy asked, pulling a box out from under the bed where she sat. "I found mine last night." Popping the top off with a flourish she got groans from half of the room. "It's nothing bad," she reassured. "I have a stack of my report cards and a set of news clippings," she held up a bundle, "a bunch of birthday cards I sent him, letters, several of my grade school art projects," she paused to pretend to flutter a paper-cut butterfly towards one of the others. "And this!"

The women on the bed crowded around her as she opened a small jewelry box. "Oh, pretty."

"That just doesn't look like something Dad would pick."

"Naveeda!"

"What?" she shrugged. "Did he seem like a jewelry connoisseur to you?"

"May I?" Iria interjected into the haggling women.

"Sure." Nashita bounced off the bed and handed it down to her. "I'm wearing it tomorrow," she announced happily.

Dorothy leaned in to see it as well as Iria studied it a moment. A gold necklace with a red stone looked back at her, probably a garnet by the color. Perhaps Mr. Winner hadn't been a jewelry connoisseur, but Dorothy was. It was a rather pretty piece, but nothing overly flashy. A very nice everyday piece really.

"It was Mom's," Iria quietly informed them.

Once again the conversations died.

Iria looked up to find Aleigha, who was seated on the bed facing them. Rising, the eldest of the women here stepped over and Iria handed the box to her. "I'm sure it was."

With a nod, Aleigha gave it probably the warmest smile that Dorothy had actually seen out of the woman. "Either Quatre knew, or it was just good timing," she stated as she handed the box back to the bride. "Father made it a habit of giving something of Mom's to each of us when we got married. Almira was the first and got Mom's wedding ring. Cala got the earrings that were her wedding present, and so on. He must have already had it divided out."

There was a second's pause before a collection of the women in the room looked at each other and stumbled over themselves towards the pile of boxes.

Dorothy burst out laughing with the others despite herself. Never stand between a woman and jewelry.

"You guys! If they're wedding gifts, that's not right," one had the conscience to tell them.

"Fine, you don't have to open yours, Noura."

"Hey, seniority here, out of the way," Aleigha added herself to the fray.

"Aleigha," Iria chided from her place still against the wall.

"How long do you expect me to wait for this?" she threw back. "Who needs a husband when you have your mother's heirlooms?"

Dorothy chuckled and nodded approvingly with a glance down at the ring on her hand. It was the only thing that she'd ever taken out of the safe in her grandfather's study, and it didn't come with such a nice sentiment, but it was her reminder….

A reminder that she'd considered too much in the past couple days.

"Was that an heirloom, Dorothy?" Iria asked, apparently noticing her appraisal of the ring.

She really didn't want to get into this; it could lead to a lot of questions she didn't feel like answering to this audience. But forcing her politeness forward, she nodded. "My mother's wedding ring."

"It's beautiful," Iria observed, drawing Nashita's interest as well.

"It's sort of an odd design for a wedding ring," she observed.

Aleigha strode back to the side of the bed with her box, casting them a look.

With a forced chuckle, Dorothy nodded. "My parents made an odd couple."

* * *

"Quatre already told us that she wears her mother's ring," Aleigha quietly implied. 

"I was just curious," Iria defended.

"Curious?" Nashita questioned. She was flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling in giddy exhaustion. "Curious of what?"

"That it was really her mother's."

Shifting, she looked over at her sister. "Or maybe curious to see how sentimental she would be about it?"

Iria blinked at her but didn't deny it.

"Meaning?" Aleigha bothered to ask.

"Dorothy is a tough cookie to crack, but when she does I'm sure she crumbles to bits."

"What is your school teaching you?" Iria blinked at her.

"For an extrovert she isn't an open person," Nashita shrugged. "But she is fiercely loyal and defensive. The fact that she associates herself with that ring is her tell."

"Tell? Tell of what? That she misses her mother?" Iria guessed.

With a smile, Nashita closed her eyes. "That her affections are just as fierce."

Iria looked up at Aleigha and the elder shook her head. "Was that supposed to tell us something?"

* * *

Dorothy was already asleep by the time Iria returned to their room. She was as quiet as she could be as she slipped into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed, but her thoughts still circled around the sleeping the girl. 

Nashita was correct in saying that Dorothy was not a very open person. Although always polite to her, the Lady Catalonia was aloof and rather removed. Even under the best of circumstances there always seemed to be a level to her that was never visible. She just seemed to hide something.

Iria had thought that she believed opposites attract. She hadn't thought a thing of it when Nashita started taking such an interest in reserved, thoughtful Manul. But Quatre and Dorothy made a pair that she didn't know if she was comfortable with.

She could, of course, see the appeal that each of them represented to the other. But she wondered if they were both simply too young to realize how insurmountable some obstacles could be.

Nashita had called her fiercely loyal and defensive, and Iria believed that. She'd been struck by Dorothy's words about Quatre's a couple days ago. There was no doubt that the woman understood him… intimately. And Dorothy hadn't shied away showing that either.

Fiercely defensive. She did seem to be.

Finishing her routine, Iria snuck back into their room and made it to her bed before she heard Dorothy shift. "Has the bride worn herself out yet?"

Iria chuckled at her and slipped under the covers. "Yes, she's all tucked in."

"I suppose Manul will get that task from now on," she answered.

Iria hummed an acknowledgement. In truth she was sad to see her little sister go. The house would be rather lonely now. Shaking that off she closed her eyes and tried to settle in, stretching in the routine she practiced to keep her back from getting so stiff overnight. "Goodnight, Dorothy. I'm sorry I woke you."

"'S OK," she mumbled. "Night, night."

If it would have been more appropriate she probably would have giggled at the young woman's obvious grogginess. It was cute. Perhaps the Lady was an adult, proper and educated, but in a lot of ways she was still just a teenaged girl.

Smiling to herself she figured Quatre knew all of this. Her beloved brother could see to the heart of anyone. Obviously he found something that he loved inside of her.

Stretching one last time, she yawned. Iria decided she'd just wait and see.

* * *

This trip just kept getting better. She was at a bloody wedding, why the hell was she the only one wearing white! 

Nashita and Manul made a beautiful couple. Their attire wasn't anything that she was used to, but the matching outfits were adorable… and green. Dorothy of course had known that the bride's color was green, she'd helped decorate. She just didn't realize that around here that meant most of the guests tried to wear as much of that color as possible.

So, Dorothy helplessly tried to mingle somewhere between the Maguanacs, who were still teasing her over corrupting their dear Master, Quatre's sisters, who were all being far too overly polite to her for her liking, and the various other women of the village, who she was convinced were beginning to whisper behind her back. Needless to say, it wasn't working well.

She had never been so desperate for an event to serve alcohol in her life. Which, of course, it didn't.

Allowing herself the moment of self-pity, Dorothy pulled herself up again, straightened her posture and reminded herself than she had navigated countless hostile social functions in her life. This would simply be the latest.

Her inner monologue was cut off when a short streak of blond when brushing past her at breakneck speed. With the amount of children running around the square, she didn't know why she took any interest in that one, but she supposed it was the gleeful squeal of the little girl. It was ear-splittingly hard to miss.

Following her path, she watched in bored detachment until the little girl cleared a path directly to her target.

Quatre.

Dorothy blinked at the sight as he bent down and caught the energetic little girl, easily swinging her up to set her on his hip. In turn, she clamped her arms around his neck, hugging him happily.

Giving the scene a little smile, she lowered her eyes and looked away before she got caught watching. Sliding away through the milling wedding guests, she tried to find a way to hide herself in plain sight. Straightening her shoulders again she dared to look for a group to throw herself into the middle of.

She hated this feeling. She just didn't know what to do about it. And she hated that feeling even more.

She was born a social navigator. Raised in a hostile environment she had learned late, but exceedingly well, that everyone had secrets and the bluff was always better than the cards. Her grandfather had called her his bloodhound a number of times. There wasn't a pillar of influence that she couldn't determine. There was no one she couldn't come to understand if given the chance to get close.

The touch on her shoulder stopped her. Turning, her eyes met the warm aqua-blue that had slowly grown to be her favorite color. She didn't even need to respond to his question, she simply gave him her hand and Quatre led her onto the make-shift dance floor area.

She took her position with her partner, stepped in close due to the cramped confines of the moving bodies already on the floor, and slipped her hand up higher than usual on his shoulder to avoid the bruise she knew he still had from the training bout. It was all rather displaced. Rather neutral. The ill-tempered boredom of routine.

Their steps were slow as he asked if anything was wrong. But a bluff was a lie, and she didn't lie to Quatre. At least she hadn't in a rather long time. At least none that he believed.

Looking up, she met his eyes directly… and lied.

And it didn't work. Maybe her bluffs had never worked with him. Maybe she'd lost whatever veil she had possessed that allowed her to show only what she wanted. Maybe she didn't want to try harder.

When she turned away, his left hand closed carefully around hers and her eyes fell closed in time. The smoothed fingertips of a violin player. She felt them, time and again.

Maybe he simply knew her too well.

Her eyes blinked open as they slid through the couples.

Did she know him? Were there still secrets in this hauntingly beautiful open book who held her his arms? What had she missed? What was it that he had that she couldn't touch no matter how close she got? That something that she was still waiting for.

How many times had she felt this? The desire to feel him. That passion that he held in check at all but the rarest times. The spark of fire that lit his eyes whenever he was challenged.

She let the conversation die, favoring muteness to the battle of shouting over the crowd.

Was she a hypocrite to be attracted to what he probably viewed as the worst of him? The secret alter ego. She almost chuckled at herself. Any other woman would be honored and humbled to be held so tenderly his care. She was the only one who taunted him. Was she so insistent that he throw it back in her face?

Was she trying to ruin this? Or did she just have to find out if she could?

"Dorothy?" The warmth of him was like a hot wind on top of the already oppressive desert heat.

Sweet temptation. He couldn't say no to her…. How true was that?

* * *

It somehow amazed Quatre how small children could fall asleep in the busiest, noisiest places. The sun had barely set, but Kayrie had fallen asleep in his lap at the table with her mother and several of his other sisters and their families. His little niece had recognized him instantly from their stay at the manor for Nashita's engagement party. Several different times she'd found him, stayed a while, and then ran off to join her cousins and the other children. 

It wasn't much of a surprise that this was where she nodded off. Unfortunately it did plant him firmly in place.

A flash of white caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to catch a glimpse of a pale, floral dress in a group at the opposite side of the square. Dorothy was moving like a ghost in and out of the other guests. He was used to her flittering here and there, but this wasn't the same. He couldn't even hope to keep track of her.

Was she still avoiding him? She had tried to tell him she was fine earlier when he finally managed to ask her for a dance. He knew better. She just didn't seem to be herself.

And he didn't like that he couldn't get her to talk to him.

He tried to discreetly crane his neck to see if he could follow where she was going, but nearly jumped when a set of hands slid around his shoulders. Almira gave him a little backwards hug and then leaned over him to chuckle down at the sleeping child. "If Cala lived closer, you'd have a permanent babysitting job," she teased.

Smiling down at the girl passed out in his arms he shook his head, "If I knew how I did it I'd give her notes."

"That's always the way," she shrugged to herself. Pulling back she looked down at him a minute with a smile and then pulled a chair over next to his and sat down, carefully brushing some of Kayrie's hair from her face. "You did a wonderful job today," she commented softly to him.

Surprised, he looked at her and then glanced past her towards the newlyweds and back. "I didn't have that much to do," he chuckled.

Shaking her head, Almira settled herself in close to him, avoiding the other conversations going on around the table. "It means a lot," she assured.

Quatre uncomfortably looked away. He had tried to avoid the thoughts that he had acted in the place of their father during the ceremony. As Nashita's only brother it was his duty to speak for her during the traditional ceremony, but that place was only his now because their father was gone.

"You've taken over the head of the family," Almira continued into his thoughts. "Father would have been very proud of you for it."

He wanted to ask why, but bit his tongue. That was not an issue for today and if Almira believe it, there was no reason to protest. "Thank you," he mumbled anyway.

"We're all very proud of you too." She slipped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a sideways hug. "It's not easy leading this group."

Quatre only chuckled at her. "I think I'm happy to be the youngest," he confessed.

"Doesn't matter," she waved it off. "I know at least eight of us that you're more mature than already."

He laughed at her and glanced at the tables around them, "Should I guess?"

"No," she shook her head. "You'll just remind me of two or three I forgot."

Once again his eyes caught on the pale white dress as he spotted Dorothy now seated with a set of the Maguanacs. Turning again he smiled at his sister, trying to remember what joke she'd just made.

But Almira had obviously followed his train of thought and seemed to be studying Dorothy as well. "Most of the family seems to think there is far more between you and Lady Catalonia than you're admitting to."

He swallowed uncomfortably as she continued to watch her, none of the teasing notes she'd had a second ago. "I know," he quietly admitted, not willing to divulge much. For some reason the fear of Almira's opinion wouldn't back down.

"Is there something?" she finally asked, turning to look at him.

Quatre was caught. The most motherly woman he had ever known had asked him a simple question that he really had no way to answer without reading her the soap opera. He stuttered for a second and then mentally slapped himself. "No."

Almira waited, her little smile slipping in place. "No?"

He shook his head, "No. I haven't lied to anyone. We are close, but that's all." Kayrie sighed in her sleep, giving him the excuse to focus on something besides his sister.

"Oh," she whispered. "Perhaps I should mind my own business."

She'd be the first. Annoyed again, Quatre turned back to watch her watching Dorothy. "Would it be so bad?" he very quietly questioned.

Almira looked at him, seemingly startled by the question. She made a move to say something but stopped herself and cast Dorothy a sidelong glance again. "I'm not sure."

The knot tightened harshly in his chest. He'd asked for it.

"In a lot of ways she reminds me of mother," she carefully went on. "In others… I'm not sure," she repeated

The table's conversation around them erupted into good natured yells and laughter, and Quatre waited for it to calm down again before he turned back to her pointedly for the continuation.

She apparently got the hint. Meeting his eyes, her expression was warning but her voice was soft. "It's not easy to be Madam Winner."

And he turned away, disgusted with the comment. "All for the name," he bit off.

"No," she called his attention back and leaned in to look him right in the eye. "The name you'll always carry. Finding a woman that can love _you_ while you're carrying it is the hard part." The little smile returned as she looked down at their niece. "It takes a very selfless woman to do that."

Quatre slowly let out the breath he'd caught and carefully returned her smile.

Commander Sada'ul was right. He'd better start trying harder.

* * *

"I suppose I just didn't realize what a mess it would turn into." Looking up at Rasid, Dorothy was halfway through this embarrassment and sighed at herself. "My apologies, Captain. I hope I didn't ruin your faith in him." 

"Not possible," he easily refuted, their location towards Western houses giving them a moment of quiet.

Why she had found it important all of sudden to pointedly explain herself to the man, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it would help stem off the rumors she knew were growing among the villagers.

Following the guests with his eyes he continued, his voice low and quiet in the crowd around them. "Quatre was a bitter, hate-filled thirteen year old boy when we met him."

Dorothy may have stumbled to a standstill at an announcement like that if her partner hadn't kept walking, leading her by sheer body mass through the outskirts of people. Instead she slowly followed his line of sight to the side of the area where Quatre was still talking to a small group, the same little girl still in his arms.

"He didn't have a shred of dignity or pride in himself. The more sensitive can be crushed by feeling worthless. But he wanted so badly to be something, to mean something."

She swallowed and softly nodded, Quatre's story of how he met the Maguanacs linking up slowly in her mind. "He got that when he joined your 'family.'"

"It wasn't us. We were just the catalyst," Rasid disagreed. "Master Quatre dives straight into everything he believes in. I've been reminded that there's no such thing as him holding back," he smiled, seemingly to himself.

Dorothy gave him the benefit of a chuckle, reminding herself of the same fact. "Are you telling me I should stop being a bad influence?" she drawled as he finally paused to look down at her.

Rasid quietly shook his head and gave her a slight bow. "Too late now."

She was midway through her standard curtsey to him when she rose to full height to ask him what the heck that was supposed to mean. She didn't get the chance as he turned and simply walked off.

When did Captain Straight-and-Narrow get a cryptic side? And how many of these blasted people were stealing her best tactics?

* * *

"I have to sleep through Abdul's snoring. What's you're excuse?" Quatre asked as she quietly took a seat on the bench beside him. 

"Flat pillows," Dorothy replied in kind.

Quatre internally sighed to himself. "You're not alright, are you?" When all else failed, the direct approach was the only thing he could count on with her. And after the past few days he was too tired to keep playing these games.

"Not really."

A short, honest answer. He turned in his seat to face more towards her and simply waited.

Dorothy drew her knees up and hugged them to her, staring into the distance where the predawn light was filtering over the Eastern buildings.

But still she didn't say anything. Debating, he tried to find a way to breach the silence and ask her to tell him what was wrong. Instead he only managed to remain sitting there waiting for her. Idly he watched the irregular wind play with the ends of her hair that hung over the edge of the bench.

Slowly blinking, he focused again on her. Moving his arm from the back of the bench, he very gently brushed her hair back from her face, grazing his knuckles by her cheek. Her face followed his touch just enough to get her to turn and look at him.

"Hi," he quietly smiled, returning his hand to prop up his chin with.

For a few seconds her expression remained blank before she granted him the barest trace of a smile in recognition. But just as quickly she turned away again, watching the light open up on their little section of the square.

"Do you remember our first meeting after the war?"

Taken aback, Quatre nodded in memory. "Of course I do." He didn't intend to forget. He'd been so stunned he'd been rooted to the spot. He had realized after that meeting that his brain lapsed every time he saw her. From the first time he met her, dressed in a fencing uniform, to finding her outlined by the lights of the ZERO mobile doll control room on _Libra_, to the second she strutted into that obscure conference room. A rather—alright very—short gray skirt suit, white heels, white headband.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye when he involuntarily chuckled at himself. "Did you find it amusing?"

"Just my reaction," he soothed. "You're goal was to leave me witless, wasn't it?"

With a minute shake of her head, she watched the sky for a moment longer. "My goal was to become something good for you."

He looked at her oddly, "Your backing of the colony project was far beyond what I would consider merely 'good for me.'"

"It had nothing to do with that. That was just the excuse."

"You wanted to apologize," he reasoned out loud. She'd told him that before. It wouldn't have been necessary to go through all the trouble that she did though.

"That's what I thought I wanted at first," she agreed. "But the more I was around you, the more… I wanted more, I guess."

Quatre's breath caught as he sat perfectly still, waiting.

"I guess I felt the need to show you my repentance," she quietly went on. "Retribution. But I didn't stop there either. It became… I don't know," she shrugged to herself. Looking over again, she narrowed her eyes in a look that he knew all too well by now. "You became rather intriguing."

"Uh… thank you," he mumbled, at a loss.

Closing her eyes, Dorothy paused again. "You said that you believed in the lives people could lead if given the chance."

Quatre nodded quietly. He'd meant that with all his heart. Dorothy especially had made her life significant to so many people. But it wasn't about the quantity of lives she touched. It was the very fact that she was still there to touch the select few that she cared for.

If she had never made if off _Libra _there was no way to tell how much he personally would have missed her without even getting the chance to realize it. There was no reason for her to have even given a thought to what would happen to him if she weren't there. That part of life simply hadn't started yet.

"Maybe in a way I slowly began to realize that," she slowly continued. "I've told myself over and over again that I want to be good for you."

Quatre softly smiled at the thought, wondering why she felt the need to tell him something so obvious. "You are," he assured.

"Am I?"

He blinked at her and then shook his head. "How could you possibly question that?"

"I don't seem to be very good at it," she admitted, frowning a bit at the sky.

Quatre chuckled before he thought to stop himself. It did get her attention though. "Just because you have a way with getting me in trouble doesn't mean that you aren't actually a good influence."

She raised a cynical eyebrow at him, "You realize that makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense to me, and I'm the one saying it," he answered with the same flawed logic.

Dorothy rolled her eyes and shook it off. Unfolding her legs she stood up again and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, handing it to him.

Quatre waited for a second for an explanation and then simply took it from her, opening it to reveal a page of text in handwriting that he knew wasn't hers.

"I asked Myria for a translation of the morning call to prayer."

He sat staring at the paper, looking over the Arabic and Basic versions of the prayer, making out only bits and pieces in the dim light. Unsure, he looked up at her again, meeting her eyes.

"I told her I was curious, is all," she went on. "It's something 'just in case.' Nothing more." With that she laced her hands behind her back and turned to walk back to the housing.

Quatre stared after her for a moment, unsure how to respond to that. He wasn't sure how any of this fit together.

But it wasn't hard to see that she was still trying to make something up to him. There was nothing he could give her that would replace her need to do something to show her better intentions anyway.

Glancing at the paper again he could only smile to himself in abandon. "Dorothy?"

The call stopped her as she turned back to him. He was already on his feet as he carefully folded the paper back the way it had been, walking towards her. Once he had it securely folded, he looked up to meet her eyes again before pulling her quickly into a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered into her hair as he held her close. He didn't care what she thought he was thanking her for. He didn't have anything specific at the moment.

Still the smile didn't leave his face as he closed his eyes and simply waited patiently for her to return the hug. Had he actually managed it? Did he dare believe for a second that the difference he felt in her was real?

Had he broken through to her? Finally?

He didn't dare attempt to bring attention to it. She just seemed rather fragile at the moment. Nothing more sentimental than that.

It was fine. Whatever she felt, he intended to just be right here whenever she decided to express it.

She wanted to be good for him? It was an interesting way to think about a relationship with someone. Probably not exactly what he would think, but this was Dorothy. It made sense that she needed to somehow feel she made a difference. To be needed.

The need to feel needed.

Quatre opened his eyes again as the thought rang true again. His grip on her tightened as he thought about the times he'd come to the same conclusion.

To feel needed….

Feeling the paper still held carefully in his hand he softly whispered to her again. "I needed this." She stirred just a bit in his arms and he paused, searching for exactly the right words. "You always know what I need."

It was possibly the most sincere thing he could say to her.

She picked the wrong time to start giggling though.

Panic struck him for a second as her shoulders shook in uneven giggles. Was that a good reaction?

Oblivious to his fears, Dorothy squeezed him a moment and then sighed. "You're welcome."

He finally relaxed again and she used the opportunity to turn out of his arms and head back to the building. Still giggling to herself.

He could only stand and watch her disappear inside, emotionally confused.

* * *

Myria was an affectionate girl. After bidding goodbye to her older brother with a lengthy squeeze of a hug, she had since clamped onto Quatre. The woman alternated between hugging him, stepping back to talk to him and hugging him again. After the third round Dorothy rolled her eyes and waited for the raven haired woman to inch off the ramp of the shuttle so she could at least go around. 

No such luck as Myria giggled and hugged him one last time, a look of good-humored abandon stuck on Quatre's face.

It was like watching a child try to part with a new puppy for the first time.

Dorothy didn't bother keeping the smirk off her face as she gave the early morning village a last look. Manul and Nashita had already made their escape to a number of cheers and some impromptu dancing, and the rest of the crowds were now dispersing. Most of the Winner family had already parted, either last night or this morning as well.

It was probably more air traffic than this place usually saw in a year.

Finally pulling away, Myria stepped down the ramp, waved a final goodbye at Auda, and brushed by her with only half a smile. "Nice to meet you. Please come again."

Dorothy was midway through beginning her thank you for the use of the hair accessories when the girl took the box from her hand and didn't even lose pace. "Thank… you…" she mumbled after her anyway. Turning for the plane, annoyed, she shook it off, "I see where I rank."

* * *

"Her cat hates me." 

"He does not."

"Does too."

"He really just isn't the friendliest kitty."

"You named him Deimos."

"So?"

"So you knew he was evil even before he met me."

"You may not have gotten off to a good start."

"The cat turned up his tail and dismissed me outright."

"He does come from a very noble pedigree."

"He's a cat."

"You're just bitter that you finally found someone in the cosmos that didn't automatically like you."

"I had you for that."

"Quatre!"

"What?"

Iria looked back and forth between the two and then turned to Abdul in abandon. Flashing her a half-smile he just shook his head to tell her not to bother interrupting. Turning instead to Rasid, who stood next to the row of seats behind the two, she wondered why he looked like he was considering something.

"He's just a cat, get over it," Dorothy waved it off, going back to her book while Quatre browsed through something for work beside her.

"He's your cat, and he hates me."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Iria suddenly found herself dumped into a random silence and tried to come up with a new topic. She'd didn't make it in time.

"What do you care if my cat hates you anyway?"

"I thought we were finished with this," Quatre sighed and finally looked up from his document.

"Simple question."

"You brought it up."

"What did I say?"

"That you have a sweet, little cat."

"And?"

He turned back to the papers, "And I disagreed."

Dorothy dropped her book into her lap and actually turned to give him a weary look, "He can't be called 'sweet' if he doesn't like you?"

"Being sweet doesn't usually involve hating people."

"You'd know," she rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

Quatre turned to her again, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dorothy looked up as well this time. "I don't know. I just can't let you have the last word."

"That's obvious," he nodded at her and cracked a smile, chuckling to himself.

Iria couldn't help it anymore. She burst out laughing. And before long the whole rest of the plane had followed her.

* * *

Quatre found himself driving down the winding roads that ran alongside the river that emptied into Lago Bonito. Auda was in the passenger seat and Dorothy and Iria flanked Abdul, all squished in the back of Dorothy's gold coup. Out of pure size necessity, the group had rearranged themselves three times to be able to fit into the car for the short trip to Dorothy's woodland home. 

He should have never made a big deal about Deimos.

Iria's innocent comment about liking to meet the kitty was all it took for the rest of the crew to jump on the chance to see Dorothy's house. Rasid had bowed out, remaining with a couple of the others and the shuttle while the group took the unscheduled tour.

His sister was trying to catch the view through the dark as they navigated around the last bend in the road and Dorothy carefully pointed out the driveway from her seat behind him. The Eastern sky was just starting to brighten, the time difference working in their favor after their quick hop from the Magaunac village to the private landing area.

Unfolding themselves out of the cramped car, Quatre helped Dorothy out and she happily trotted up to the door and unlocked it for them, flicking on the lights.

He let the others go first, getting her luggage out of the trunk instead. With a smirk he followed quietly as the surprised noises and comments reached him as he closed the front door behind himself. Setting her bags aside, he watched in amusement as the little group wandered around the living room and kitchen/dining areas. Iria was the first one out on the patio and her awed squeak quickly sent the other two men after her.

Slipping up to Dorothy's side in the kitchen the two watched the others look out at the view of the nighttime lake under them. "Half the reason you stay out here is for the reactions, right?" he teased.

She nodded with a hum and then turned to wrap herself into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. "It's been a while since I've had new company out here."

Quatre nodded into her hair, smiling to himself. "It's been awhile."

She hummed.

A tinking sound made her turn and look down as Deimos trotted up and brushed against her ankle. "There you are," she called and moved to pick up her cat. "Have you been good for Felicia?"

The cat didn't seem to feel the need to reply and simply settled in for his petting.

"You have gotten big," Quatre commented offering his hand for the cat to sniff before he tried to pet him in Dorothy's hold. This time Deimos didn't seem to care who he was and simply closed his eyes and snuggled in. "What do ya know?" he mumbled.

"See."

"Just don't let go," he warned.

With a laugh she took him away and walked him over to the patio doors. "Someone else wants to meet you," she whispered to him and then set him down with a nudge towards the outside.

"Well you've gotten fat," Auda obviously saw him first.

"Hey, fuzz-butt!" Abdul called.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little guy," Iria's voice rose three notes. "Come here, Deimos. Will you come to me? Aaaww…."

Quatre chuckled and leaned one hip against the kitchen island as Dorothy came back with a smile. "I'm sorry. The last few days didn't really turn out that well," she softly apologized.

With a smile he shook his head, "I think we're alright. For better or worse," he shrugged.

Dorothy giggled and brushed against his side, nuzzling under his ear and making him squirm before she slipped away again. "Whatever that means."

* * *

"Never again clutter your days with so many menial and unimportant things that you have no time to accept a real challenge when it comes along." - Og Mandino 

"When your cat rubs the side of its face along your leg, it's affectionately marking you with its scent, identifying you as its private property, saying, in effect, 'You belong to me'." - Susan McDonough


	57. Chapter 57

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 57

"Richard Pearl has lousy taste in women."

Dorothy sipped her at her tea and then tried not to make a face. Mint tea. She didn't know why she made the stuff, she never drank it.

"You mean that media host that he was so eloquently rumored to be having a relationship with?" she demurely asked.

"Eloquently? More like had their pictures plastered on every screen in the Sphere," Relena sniffed. "Don't tell me you actually missed my interview with Lois Dante the other night."

"I guess I did," she vaguely shrugged. "I don't suppose your rival's ex-girlfriend was pleasant to you."

"No," Relena complained, her voice echoing her displeasure with the woman in question through the video call. "Of course, I wasn't all that pleasant by the end either."

Dorothy giggled at the image and made a note to find a recording of the program. What her dear little friend on the other end of the line didn't know was that the media exposure over the rival for her Foreign Ministry position had been very neatly orchestrated. When Relena and Heero's involvement got splashed across every newspaper in the Sphere, it had turned heads. The fact that Relena had then gone public with an announcement that they were dating had come at a very disturbing time.

Oracle had been a bit concerned.

Though none of the members were supposed to have any involvement in the dealings of things like public elections, the exposure catapulted the number of hits they monitored from those few who recognized Heero for who he was. Their only response had been a quick diversion, playing the media in two directions and lessening the amount of time and attention placed on their dear little couple.

These two weren't making her job easy. Although in retrospect, it had smoothed over so nicely she'd been surprised. The Sphere loved their little Vice Minister, and apparently anyone she loved as well.

It was such a tenderly beautiful thing, it was a pity so few knew the truth….

"I do have a good piece of news for you," Relena continued, and Dorothy remembered to tune back in to what she was saying.

"Oh? What's that?" she raised an eyebrow before taking another sip of her tea and remembering again that she didn't like it.

"Duo popped the question."

Dorothy about spit her tea straight into the image of her friend. "He what?"

Laughing merrily at her for choking, she nodded, "I'm serious, they're engaged."

"You mean the silly woman said yes?" she grumbled, setting her tea cup as far away from her as physically possible and scowling at the thing.

"Of course she said yes," Relena rolled her eyes. "No word on a date yet though."

"Aren't they a tad young?" she argued, checking her shirt to make sure she hadn't spilled anything on herself.

"…They were both out fighting a war to try to save the world at 15. I think we can cut them some slack on the maturity issue."

"Maybe for Hilde," she muttered. "Braid-for-brains I don't have the same faith in."

"Dorothy!" she chided.

"Oh fine," she huffed, focusing again. "I'm so happy for them. I wish them all the best," she stated with robotic dictation. "That poor woman is going to need it."

Relena sighed wearily and rubbed at one of her temples. "Of course. So speaking of, how's Quatre?"

Dorothy glared at her. "'Speaking of' what?"

With an annoying little smile, Relena just shrugged and waited for the answer.

And with a heavy sigh she tossed a look out at the overcast day outside. "I'm sure he's fine."

"You're sure? You haven't spoken to him lately?"

"His sister got married a few weeks ago. We both attended," she casually turned back to the call again. "Nothing interesting has come up since then."

"Oh," Relena almost purred. "Is the family warming up to you, Lady Catalonia?"

"I highly doubt it," she answered honestly. "And I had my own invitation, thank you."

"…To his sister's wedding?"

"She married one of the Maguanacs. I've gotten to know them both quite well."

"I see," Relena nodded vaguely and brushed it off. "Well, if you talk to him before I do, will you tell him the good news? Duo may have already called him, I don't know."

"Of course," she nodded.

The two made their friendly goodbyes, and she disconnected. Once again, she sat back in her desk chair and looked forlornly at the disorganized piles of information in front of her. Nothing that couldn't wait. Nothing interesting. Nothing she wanted to do.

The room was dim compared to normal. The skies hung heavy and the haze of humidity stuck to everything. The weather was so dull and boring that the clouds had even put themselves to sleep. They weren't even excited enough to rain.

Time dragged so slowly on cloudy days.

She glanced at her cup again on the edge of her desk and then turned her chair around to face out the back wall of glass that overlooked the lake and hills beyond. The colors always looked prettier when it rained though. The greens popped against that gray background.

Deimos' collar tinkled as he rolled over and stretched before curling back into a ball for another nap. His little house sat in the corner and he had climbed to the top of the multi-level contraption to doze, his tail twitching slowly.

At least someone was content.

Days like this, she supposed she didn't know why she got out of bed either.

With a disgruntled sigh, she snapped to her feet and paced to the patio door, flinging the thing open as roughly as she could. Walking out, she closed it behind her in the same way.

She hated this weather. It always made her feel claustrophobic. Closed in and smothered, she just couldn't seem to shake loose from anything. Her thoughts pin-wheeled and she grew restless. There were a million things she should be doing, but not one of them that she felt she really could do.

Cabin-fever always did tend to hit her hard. She'd just never learned to make the most of nasty days alone.

Alone. That was it, wasn't it? She felt alone at times like this. It wasn't any nagging loneliness that she would ever admit to, but it was a distinct lack of anything or anyone that really held her interest.

Relena didn't count. It was sad, but true. If her friend were in some sort of merry trouble, as she was so inclined to get herself into on occasion, that would have done it. But as it stood, there was nothing to throw herself into.

Dorothy just needed something to… just something. Anything! A danged crossword puzzle would be nice about now.

Throwing her head back she glared up at the clouds willing them to either rain and fight back or just wither and dry up. She was tired of the indecisiveness.

* * *

"Good morning, Dorothy."

"Have you talked to Duo lately?"

"He called last night."

"And?"

"He's engaged."

"Dang it."

"Hoping to beat him to the punch?"

"Hoping to have some fun with it, yes."

"Bored?"

"How did you guess?"

Quatre flipped the page of the proposal with a smirk. "Do I need to meet you for coffee?"

"I'm not that bored," she sighed.

"Chess match?"

"Maybe. What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for work."

"You're not there yet?"

"Running late this morning."

"Of course. Otherwise you're always there to open the front doors."

"I get more done when no one else is in yet."

"Loner."

"Methodical," he corrected.

"Whatever."

"Was there any other point for this call?"

"No," she sighed dejectedly. "I was just supposed to pass along the blissful news."

"You don't seem that thrilled for them." Picking up the rest of the paperwork from his home office desk, he tucked it into his case. Casting a quick look at the sajadah, prayer mat, placed neatly on the floor facing towards the window, he had to smile to himself before continuing on downstairs.

"I don't think it's sunk in yet."

"It's a big step."

"I suppose. I wonder if I'll get an invitation."

"I wonder if Duo will hold out long enough to send invitations."

"…What?"

"He can be impetuous."

"Really? I'd never noticed," she sarcastically added.

"How bored are you?" he changed the subject.

Dorothy sighed from her end of the line. "Very. You don't know of any good plot to take over the world that I can go thwart, do you?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm fresh out of those this week. All I have is a very annoying company that keeps spiting out my supply directors. I may need a more _forceful_ negotiator. Interested?"

"Company?" she asked, completely detached sounding.

He let himself chuckle as he left the house and got into the car. "Shalemate Chemicals."

"Purpose?"

"Our number one supplier, they provide all of the decomposition chemicals and gear that the resource stations use to break down the—"

"You're signing their paychecks. Understood," she broke in. "Problem?"

"Twenty-three percent price increase across the board."

"Ouch."

"Exactly," he sighed, easing into the early traffic and steering towards the office. "The directors are screaming. I'm meeting with several people who have been to see them recently, but I think I'm going to hear that they won't budge on it again."

"Alternatives?"

"None that can meet our needs upfront."

"Do they know that?"

"I don't see how they couldn't," he shook his head to himself.

"Hum… that's going to take a very short skirt," she mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing dear."

With a bitter glare at his phone, Quatre shook it off. "Actually I suggest you wear you pants."

"Worried about me?" she purred in his ear.

He smiled and mentally affirmed that. "Family business and apparently completely female run."

"…You'd better have the directors redo the budget."

"Thanks for your support," he grumbled.

"Welcome."

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Winner. I've heard that you've been trying to get a hold of me."

Quatre blinked at the vidscreen and tried to place the woman in front of him. "If I have, I'm sorry that I don't recognize you."

"Forgive me," she smirked. "My name is Antandre Cornecova," she pronounced in such a heavy accent that he barely caught the name that he'd seen strewn across the reports cluttering his desk.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he responded, distinctly leaving out attempting to match her untraditional pronunciation. "It is nice to finally speak with you."

"I have heard that you are not pleased with our pricing increases." Again with the same, slight smirk.

Attempting to match it, he gave her a chuckle, "I don't imagine you have many customers that sent you a fruit basket for it."

She hummed a moment, her glossy red lips almost, but not quite, rising to a smile, "I suppose not."

Quatre shifted in his seat, settling back to relax his shoulders. Quickly taking in her appearance, he noted the way she sat back in her chair, her arms draped over the rests. A wide glass window behind her showed an unobstructed view of a colony's clouds and ceiling and nothing else. The setup on her end placed the camera back from her, allowing the view to catch her body language.

Interesting. The entire scene screamed of authority and power, and the woman wanted it that way.

"I do apologize for the late notice of the price changes. But I'm sure that you understand that costs of production do increase."

"By so much?" he called her on it before she could continue.

"We recently acquired a new plant and are still in the development stages with it. We are hopeful that once functional, it will provide us the means to decrease costs, and pass that savings on to all of our customers."

"Yes, it's costly to hold the monopoly of a market."

Miss Antandre paused to raise a perfectly drawn eyebrow at him. "Are you insinuating something, or speaking from experience, Mr. Winner?"

For some reason, that faint, delicate little eyebrow looked distinctly forked in his mind's eye. "Both."

Again the smirk rose the corner of her lips. "Very well. Perhaps you're correct. Due consideration should be given to our more valued customers. With a little finesse I may be able to help you out a bit."

This woman was already the top of the food chain, and he was sure of it. Time never benefits the one waiting.

Turning to something on his desk he shuffled a couple papers, "I can meet with you tomorrow if it's convenient."

If the move surprised her, she never hesitated, "We'd be honored. I will pull some strings to ensure that our president is here to receive you as well."

Mentally sighing, he realized he'd just given up the home field advantage. Alright then, let them prepare, "I have a few things to attend to in the morning. Would four o'clock be too late?"

"Four o'clock would be perfect."

Of course it was. "Then I'll look forward to meeting you, Miss Antandre," he tried, getting it only passable compared to her introduction.

"You as well," she nodded and signed off.

Quatre thoughtfully stared at the database that popped back up in place of her image on the monitor. Realizing a bit too late that that performance may not have actually worked as he'd thought it would, he worriedly pulled out his private phone and hesitated a moment before flipping it open and dialing.

"Yes, dearest?" the familiar, airy voice came over the line.

Hunching over the desk and throwing a glance to make sure there was no one in the open doorway to his office, he quietly stated, "I think I need training."

* * *

"Why should I care? I'd prefer to watch your feeble little company burn to the ground," Dorothy stated deadpan.

And Quatre broke out laughing and then tried to cover it as the taxi pulled up to the front of high rise office building on a fellow colony of the L4 cluster. "This isn't helping me," he half-heartedly grumbled.

"Did you, or did you not, refer to her as evil incarnate?"

"I did not," he emphasized.

"Oh. Maybe that was me," she mused.

"Can we focus?"

"If knowing me for the last umpteen years hasn't prepared you to face an aggressive female, there's no hope for it now. Mock conversations aren't going to get you very far."

"I'm realizing that," he sighed, quickly grabbing his briefcase and letting the doorman at the entrance open his door for him. "It's too late for much of anything."

"Twenty minutes early?"

"Fifteen."

"Run me through the building."

"Big, impressive, tallest thing standing this side of the colony," he listed, casually looking up at the tower. "The reps in purchasing who've been here before all described the top floor as 'Heaven.' White, glass and filled with angels," he tried not to roll his eyes. "Some interesting references to needing to buy their wives flowers when they got home."

"And you wonder why they never got this renegotiated?"

"I had my doubts," he mumbled as the doors to the lobby were opened for him to reveal a massive, five story, entry space.

"Well, as long as they don't have a thirty foot statue of any naked Greek goddess in their lobby, you'll be fine. Just picture them all as me."

The metal sculpture that presented itself to him didn't fit the description so he dismissed it. "What do you think I've been doing? It's not that anyway, it's just the idea of the confrontation."

"Our dear befriender of all isn't cut out for bloodthirsty corporate politics?" she purred in his ear. "You can step up to the challenge, darling. Don't disappoint me now."

Rolling his eyes, he stepped into a glass domed elevator and pressed the top floor as instructed. "Why couldn't you be here again?"

"I'm with you in spirit."

"That's nothing new," he teased her.

"Save it for your audience."

"Thanks," he mumbled, and swallowed uncomfortably as the numbers ticked higher. This wasn't his forte, he didn't know why he'd gotten himself into this. Backhanded remarks and double meanings never settled well with him, yet he'd instigated this meeting. He wasn't comfortable with the tactics he'd unthinkingly used in that single phone conversation.

"One more thing," she calmly closed. "If your collar is still buttoned I'm going to rip it off."

And with a smile, he chuckled in complete abandon. "Come get me."

With a pleased hum, she hung up with a click and Quatre slowly tucked his phone back in his pocket. What was he worried about? He had far worse conversations on a near-daily basis.

As the doors chimed at him, he took a deep breath and mentally assured himself that the following would be just like any average business dealing.

He blinked as they parted though, not because his mental image had failed, but because the light that streamed in was far brighter than the elevator's muted interior. Stepping out, he was faced with a floor entirely open to his view point. All of the walls were glass, which was not surprising for its construction, but the dividers and hallways were done entirely with glass partitions, exposing the people milling around in their offices to plain view. Skylights opened up in regular intervals, allowing all of the afternoon lighting to pour in.

Perhaps his purchasing director hadn't been exaggerating.

"Hello, do you have an appointment?" a woman at one of the front desk asked.

With a polite smile, Quatre stepped up to her and nodded. "Antandre Cornecova should be expecting me. Quatre Raberba Winner," he announced. Dorothy had made him go through his temporary phone records and find the recording of the woman's name and practice its pronunciation over and over until it sounded better rolling off his tongue than his own did.

"Yes, Mr. Winner," she nodded and stood up. He noted with some random amusement that even the desks were glass tops. The floors were polished tiles and pronounced every moment of the woman's heels to anyone around. It was a bold and distinct statement of style that he wasn't sure could ever be duplicated this effectively anywhere else.

The woman led him down the hallway, the glass partitions seeming to enjoy his curious glances around at the offices and workers. Though in full view, the partitions were obviously mostly soundproof, cutting down what he could hear to only a few snippets of conversation and the receptionist's clicking heels.

Perhaps it was best Dorothy didn't come with him. She'd probably negotiate herself straight into a job.

It wasn't hard to determine where they were headed, and he was correct when the woman ushered him into an office at the end of the hall and excused herself. "Miss Antandre," he opened, offering her his hand.

"Mr. Winner, so glad you could make it," she rose and took his handshake.

"Quatre, please. And I find this all too important to not follow up on personally."

"That's understandable," a new voice opened from the doorway.

For three steps, he simply listened to the rhythm of the hard soled shoes against the floor tiles. Breathing in a deep sense of nostalgia, he finally turned to regard this second woman.

"May I introduce our president," Antandre offered.

The family resemblance was there, even if the women didn't state it. Something in the brown eyes, hallowed with a golden ring.

"Andromeda," she cut through the formalities and offered her hand.

Palm down. Quatre could have laughed but took it to peck a kiss on her knuckles to cover his smile. "The pleasure is mine."

"Please do have a seat, and we'll work out something as accommodating as possible," she stated easily and stepped over to cross her ankles and lean against the front of Antandre's desk.

He practically sunk into the chair set before them, but tried to ignore the uncomfortable height difference now present between them. But as he looked down at each page he turned in the papers and information that he'd brought with him, he had to keep from smiling at the women's stiletto heels.

And the pair of causal slip-ons that were tucked—almost out of sight—behind Antandre's wastebasket.

* * *

"I really think you'd like these people."

"Oh?"

"They have your style written all over that building."

"And here I thought I was distinctive."

With a chuckle, Quatre rubbed at his eyes.

"So, did the Amazons reach a verdict?"

"I let them keep an eleven percent increase."

"How generous of you."

"I thought so," Quatre sighed contentedly to himself as he sunk into the seat of the taxi to return to the spaceport. "In exchange for that of course, I had to make them lock our pricing for a full twelve months."

"Congratulations, Master Winner."

"Thank you," he happily accepted the praise. "Not exactly your type of results, but I'm considering it a victory."

"As you should." Her distinctive little haughtiness bled out of her voice again, and she seemed to turn bored once more. "Your directors satiated once more?"

"I certainly hope so. I don't need anything else going into the end of the third quarter."

She hummed mildly and for a few seconds there was silence on the line. He almost didn't notice until it dragged out a little too long, but before he could come up with something to fill the gap with, she continued.

"I miss you."

After an hour of dealing with possibly the most manipulative set of women in space, Quatre was finally struck dumb for a second before his brain clicked over. "M-miss me?" he stuttered and then squeezed his eyes shut with a mental slap. "Has it been so long?" Again he practically hit himself for the stupid remark.

"There just doesn't seem to be anything of interest lately."

He listened to the rational explanation almost dejectedly. "O-oh?" he tried to make it sound like a question half way through the initial sound.

She simply hummed an affirmative. "I've become utterly boring."

"Um… sorry?" he tried.

"No, you still make a good distraction."

Wilting from his previously self-asserted mood, he propped up his chin with an elbow on the handle of the taxi door. "Well I'm glad that this little minor corporate crisis could keep you occupied for a day or so."

"Oh don't be bitter, I said I miss you."

"Because you have nothing better to do."

"Does that make it not count?" she actually sounded curious.

"Of course it does," he haughtily replied.

"Would you prefer me to be so busy I don't have time to miss you?"

"No, I'd prefer to be missed for a better reason."

"…Such as?" she prodded.

"Something…" he stopped for lack of anything intelligent to say. "Something… sappy and heartfelt," he said it anyway.

Her cackle of a laugh resounded in his ear, and for whatever reason it managed to make him smile. "I'm terribly sorry. I just don't seem to do either of those very well."

Tilting his head towards the window, he watched the building pass by, his smile still stuck in place. "Perhaps it's about time I taught you then, Lady Catalonia."

* * *

"The bloody man thinks I need sensitivity training."

He sat Indian style on the floor, a canvas propped up between him and a table. His left hand held a large piece of charcoal; his right, a standard drawing pencil. Clothed only in pair of black cotton pants, he sat staring intently at the stark white of the new canvas.

"You beat me every time I suggested that."

"A little blunt trauma never hurt you."

The window of the loft behind him cast the buttered light of sunset onto the surroundings. Set against the pristine of the canvas, his shadow made a slow, fuzzy appearance in the omnipresent light.

No, it didn't seem right this evening either.

Davonte finally resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to accomplish anything with the goddess of discord pacing around behind him. "Beloved, you know I adore you, but why are you here?"

"Bored," she sighed. He turned to look at her as she peeked around at the mess of things in his studio apartment. Never touching a thing, she looked as though she were scanning an estate sale while the body was still on display.

"Shopping for Christmas?" he half-bitterly sniffed at her unspoken critique of his works and turned back to the blank canvas.

"I don't believe I'll be getting gifts for anyone who would appreciate your talents."

"Everyone can appreciate my talents," he snipped.

"I meant in a way worthy of your skills, darling," she patronized.

With a sigh, he rose and stretched, realizing he'd been in that position too long. "Why does your boredom include me all of a sudden?"

"You used to like it when I popped over spontaneously."

Putting away his supplies, he dusted the charcoal off his hands with a convenient rag and smiled to himself. "I've discovered that spontaneity is only valuable in romance." Turning over his shoulder he watched her hop up to perch on top of his cutting table. "And you, milady, have thwarted my efforts thus far."

"You say that as though you're surprised," she snickered at him.

Davonte picked up his white dress shirt off the back of a chair and made a production out of putting it on, leaving it unbuttoned as he sauntered up to her. "No, beloved. You wouldn't be satisfied with a lowly artist."

"Yes, it's the 'lowly' part that I dislike," she teased.

With a hum and a nod, he stepped up and leaned over her, placing a hand on either side of her to support himself against the table. "And so you torment a peaceful, naive little boy who happens to own a billion dollar company?"

Bursting out laughing Dorothy covered her mouth, trying to calm her obvious humor at the idea. He blinked at her oddly. The simple description of Mr. Winner was supposed to be humorous but he didn't think it warranted that type mirth. "Perhaps I have the wrong impression of the man," he raised an eyebrow.

She turned to a playful giggle and narrowed those gray eyes at him. "Quite."

"Oh dear," he stood taken aback. "What have you done him?"

For a second she looked as though she was going to protest the implication, but just as quickly the impish gleam to her eyes returned. "I suppose it's possible that I'm a bad influence."

"Always," he quipped.

With a shrug she sighed and tossed a few locks of her hair back over her shoulder. "He doesn't seem to mind… much." She chuckled to herself with some mental addition to that, he was sure.

"Of course," he raised an eyebrow again. "Silly girl. He loves you."

She paused to look up at him a second before brushing it off. "I seem to have that effect," she batted her eyelashes at him pointedly.

"You are a wonderful flirt," he nodded absently. Rising from his bent position, he stretched again.

"I learned well," she shrugged.

"He isn't used to it though," he calmly reminded her. Looking back down at the woman before him, he knew it was true. She was a dangerous creature. Built from the finest parts and programmed to manipulate. She had been raised as a secrete weapon. A beautiful and privileged woman who could belie her intellect and ambition as long as she wished.

Had Romafeller ruled five years more, his beloved Dorothy would be mangling the hearts and minds of any man who crossed her path. And she'd be ruthless.

Davonte knew what she was, and what fires burned through her veins. By the start of the war he had already felt the loss of the child he'd watched grow up. It hadn't been fair, but there was nothing he could do.

Something had brought her back from that brink, and as grateful as he was, he still wondered what.

"Quatre loves everyone he meets," she waved off, oblivious to his inner thoughts.

She wasn't really paying attention to him and he gave her a small smile, "Not what I meant." Casting his glance over her blouse and short silk skirt his smile only rose farther. "He isn't cut out to resist someone like you."

"Really?" she teased.

Turning, he stepped over and crossed his arms, leaning one hip against the table beside her. "How do you know that he doesn't have more tender affections for you?" he questioned out loud.

Again she looked at him as though it was a silly question, but then hummed half-interestedly in thought. "He's awfully transparent. I don't think he'd keep that from me."

"Have you ever asked?"

"Why would I do that?" she asked, nearly aghast. Thinking better of it, she turned confused, "How would I do that?"

Shaking his head, Davonte chuckled at the dear child. "For all of your womanly worth you've never figured out how to talk about your emotions."

"It always sounds so clichéd and annoying," she dismissed it.

"The exotic is always alluring, love," he smiled at her, "but the simple and common are timeless."

Dorothy simply rolled her eyes, "Whatever."

His illustrious wisdom was lost on this infernal creature.

"What do you make of 'I can't say no to you?'" she asked instead, her eyes staring at nothing in memory.

"Aw. Beautiful," he nodded. "Devotion."

She hummed in acknowledgement. "The dear man is loyal to a fault."

So, the dear Mr. Winner again, is it? That was a description he believed of the boy. "You both seem to have that habit."

That snapped her eyes back to look at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He once again stepped in front of her and leaned down. Meeting her cold, gray eyes, he wondered what warmth the man ever got out of them. Nevertheless, something had taken possession of his beloved. Better for her if it was the openly affectionate man. With a devilish smile he leaned in close to her face. "He's a better kisser than I am, isn't he?"

A smirk slowly rose even as she demurely lowered her eyes. "Yes."

"The scoundrel's ruined you," he whispered.

With an evil giggle she looked back up at him and tilted her nose to peck a kiss on his lips. "Goodnight, Von," she stated pointedly. Stepping away, he allowed her to hop off the table. She swished around him, her hair catching against his side.

"Goodnight, beloved. Brunch tomorrow?" he asked after her.

"My treat."

"As milady wishes."

She didn't even pause to look back as she entered the elevator at the corner of his loft and the metal scrollwork encased her.

"There is something in him that calls to you," he quietly informed the closed elevator doors.

But it wasn't in her nature not to struggle. The poor boy must enjoy a fight.

With a laugh, he turned back to his charcoal pieces.

Or perhaps he enjoyed a conquest.

"Hum. Peaceful indeed."

* * *

It really wasn't a fair comparison. For all of his sultry attitude and advances Davonte was harmless. Smooth and practiced was all well and good, but it wasn't all that exciting to her.

She dealt with that everyday.

It was far more fulfilling to have a man who would normally stutter and blush at the thought come unglued for her. That was what made her pulse race. That unpredictability was thrilling.

She had honestly never known how overwhelming the feeling of raw emotion could be before. Honest, unsuppressed reactions were not part of her bag of tricks.

As the doors of the elevator opened again, Dorothy sauntered through the deserted lobby of the little warehouse turned studio and art boutique. Her heels clicked across the polished cement floor, a decorative area rug interrupting their staccato here and there.

She'd dug out her tallest pair of sandals and a short skirt and married it with a modest blouse. For whatever reason, she was back at the Chateau out of pure boredom, and intended to rectify that.

Keying in the exit code, the glass doors swished open. The hem of her skirt and the tickle of her hair brushed the back of her legs as she sashayed down the sidewalk to where she'd parked her car. The sun was gone and the night was fresh.

Von was a fun side interest. He was charmingly amusing.

Lately though, every conversation she got into eventually brought her back to one person. Her dear Quatre was a perfectly fine discussion topic, but everyone seemed intend to imply things about his affections for her.

She didn't appreciate being told by a third party what she meant to the man. She also didn't find anything earth-shattering about what anyone had said so far. And if anyone should know how far his affections for her went, it was her.

Who did these people think they were dealing with? First of all, her little Quatre was pathetically transparent. It was part of his addictive charm. And secondly, she did not appreciate the thought that everyone assumed she was merely overlooking things.

Dorothy Catalonia prided herself on her ability to read men.

Hum. Not that she had the best average in the love category.

Well, she supposed she couldn't blame people for their thoughts. Quatre was sweet, and she was sure that any of his friends and acquaintances would be a tad worried about his emotional wellbeing. Especially around her. It was probably a mark of their concern to ensure she wouldn't inadvertently ignore some heartfelt advances.

It was immaterial. Few of them knew him the way she did.

Few of them knew how he affected her either.

Few? That was an overstatement. She'd been abruptly faced with the fact that even she didn't know the way he affected her. From time to time she realized how ingrained he was in her.

It was not a comforting revelation. She honestly didn't appreciate the indecisiveness he inspired in her sometimes. A characteristic that she hated, and yet she'd been accusing herself of it for weeks. Longer than that probably.

Von and his little insinuation was amusing though. A better kisser. Well, she'd given him an honest answer. Quatre would….

An image from months ago flashed to mind, and her pace slowed unconsciously. When they had redesigned the Chateau, one evening Von had kissed her goodnight, the same way she had just done to him. …Quatre and at least a handful of the Mags had been standing right there.

Getting to the end of the block where her car was parked, she hesitated to unlock the door while she wondered why she'd never even thought of what that had probably looked like before. The guys had never mentioned it. Quatre certainly hadn't.

He didn't have the same understanding of that as she did. She knew that quite well by now. But it had been over-explained time and again.

Still… she wondered what he'd thought or if he'd seen it.

Even knowing she was the extent of his kissing resume, he really was a prude about such things.

Did that affect him?

With a hint of a smirk, she circled around to the driver's side and wondered if she should ask. Come to think of it, the whole absurd suggestion that she ask him about his feelings for her suddenly become a rather mischievous little plot.

Talk about stuttering and blushing.

"Lady Catalonia."

She paused with her hand on the door handle, and felt the cold swirl around her. She counted two steps coming from around the corner of the building before she looked up at the advancing man. Shifting her keys quietly, she strained her ears to listen for anyone else in the immediate area. "Yes?"

"I have been asked to escort you, if you would come with me, Lady," he politely nodded back towards where a small, stately limo was parked on the side street.

"By whom?" she questioned.

"The Marquis Wayridge sends his regards, and invites you to come to his estate for tea this evening."

Narrowing her eyes in the dim lights, she mentally swore. She'd been in town a total of four hours. "It's a bit late for tea."

"He merely said that your presence would make for a lively discussion, Lady."

Again she swore, and removed her hand from the handle and relocked her car, stepping back around it and towards the waiting limo. "The Marquis is a gifted conversationalist. I would hate to miss the opportunity."

Hate it indeed.

* * *

Quatre left the building earlier than usual and walked to his car, still one of the last ones in the parking garage. Pulling his phone from his pocket he happily clicked one of his speed dials, pulling out his keys with his other hand.

"Hello."

"Lady Catalonia, have you decided if I am going to be graced with your presence this weekend?" he opened.

"No."

His pace slowed to a complete stop. "Excuse me?"

"Something else has come up."

The words sent him through every conversation they had had during the week. "All of a sudden?" he questioned in confusion.

With a small sigh, she continued, "It couldn't be helped."

Still wracking his brain, he faltered completely and frowned. "Did I do something wrong?" he meekly questioned.

The momentary pause on the other end of the line wasn't very reassuring. "Why would you think that?"

He mentally shrugged and didn't really have an answer for that. "I don't know."

"No, dearest. I'm headed for the Mars Satellite. There are some issues that I want to take care of personally."

"Oh." Why was that such a relief? "Anything I can help with?" he tried to get his previously cheerful mood back as he continued forwards towards his car.

Again there was a pause. "Perhaps."

"Such as…?" he prodded.

"Come to the Satellite."

Well that was blunt. "Now?"

"Do you have something better to do?"

Touché. "Well my date for the weekend abandoned me so it seems I'm free," he teased. "What time will you arrive?"

"Two and half hours."

Getting into his car, he pulled the door closed and leaned back in the seat to scrutinize that. "When you said you were on your way, you meant literally."

"It can't be helped."

Something was wrong with this picture. Dorothy wasn't this short when she was being dragged into "babysitting" the operations of the Mars bridge. "Is something wrong there?"

"…I have a new assignment."

Something set off an alarm in his head at the words. No one "assigned" the Mistress to something that she wasn't enthused about taking. This was obviously serious, and she was sidestepping talking about it.

The fact that she had asked him to come meant it was something she didn't care to handle alone. With a careful nod to himself, he read into the situation and tried again to sound cheerful. "It doesn't sound like you intend to enjoy it. But you're right, I don't have any other plans. I'll head out this evening and meet you there. Will you set up arrangements when you arrive?"

"Of course, dear. Thank you. I don't imagine it will be as entertaining as my usual visits, but I'll do my best," she teased.

"I'll see you tonight then."

"See you then, love. Ciao."

Quatre flipped his phone closed against his chin and sat tossing around the possible implications of the simple conversation. Deciding to keep his assumptions limited for now, he prepared himself for anything and then put the key in the ignition and started the car.

As he backed out of his spot, a spontaneous grin lit up his face. _"Love."_

* * *

"If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is a compromise." – Robert Fritz 


	58. Chapter 58

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 58

_Dorothy didn't ask how he knew she was in town. She didn't inquire how his driver had hunted her down. She wouldn't get an answer. And she didn't want to know._

_As promised, the Marquis offered her tea and cookies, which she took. Idle chitchat took a few minutes as usual, and she delicately picked up a small sprig of fresh mint from the serving tray and dropped it in to float in her cup._

"_There is something that I wish to ask of you," Wayridge finally cut to the chase._

_Raising the cup to her lips, she waited. Breathing in the steam hinted with mint, she didn't bother to taste it._

"_We would like you to take a more active role in Mars' development."_

"_I've already been given that task," she softly reminded him, not moving the cup or looking over at him._

"_Miss Relena has a project in the works to create a government funded shipping line and bridge for the two planets. It is in everyone's best interests to maintain a level of stability."_

_She was well aware of Miss Relena's foreword thinking in the area of supply to the fledgling colonists. Finally she lowered the cup to the saucer in her lap and calmly looked over at him. "Of course it is. What would you like me to do?"_

_Sitting back in his seat, the elder man considered the case quietly. This must have been something he'd been looking into for some time. "Miss Relena's goal to unify the former soldiers into becoming this bridge is noble, but messy. The management on the Satellite does not have the background to handle something so delicate. I would like you to ensure that the IRIS project becomes, not only a reality, but a success."_

_That wasn't anywhere in her job description with the Satellite. It wouldn't be easy to make them listen to her advice. She would need a little more leverage from Relena's side of the coin. That shouldn't be hard, the woman was completely wrapped up with the idea. "Alright," she stated simply. "I will see what I can do."_

_The Marquis nodded politely to her in thanks and turned his chair to pour himself another cup. "Mars will become the most important achievement of the next generation. There will be much to do to prepare it."_

Much you already have planned, no doubt_, she thought. "That's understandable," she agreed. Setting her cup back down on the serving tray she rose and allowed him to peck a kiss on her hand as he rose to his feet as well. "Good evening, Marquis."_

"_Good evening, Lady. Always a pleasure."_

_He watched her show herself out and then turned to look down at her untouched cup, the mint leaves still floating on top. With a small smile he seated himself again and turned back to his business. _

_She was growing weary of them._

_As she should._

(End flashback.)

* * *

"_The creation of a bridge between the Earth Sphere and Mars is a natural foundation. We have found time and again that private sector services are not equipped for the challenge of keeping constant ties between the planets."_

Marquis Wayridge was an exceptional spy. Dorothy stood in a random office that she'd confiscated as soon as she got to the Satellite. Not two hours after she landed did Miss Relena appear in a public appeal.

"_The supply line must become a network capable of facilitating the people of the Mars Colony. The government has approved the creation of a publicly funded shipping line to give us the opportunity to ensure the people of Mars are not cut off from the goods, services, and people of Earth."_

Ah, that was how her dear Marquis found out. Relena had already swayed their fearless political leaders. Well then, if it was all official, she shouldn't have much difficulty stepping into her appointed role.

"_In the coming months, the formation of this shipping service will take shape. Ships and equipment will be rented until the specifically designed cargo vessels can be produced. What is required now are the people who will answer the call to become this bridge. My purpose today is to announce the open recruitment for these positions. The people we are desperately in need of are pilots, mechanics, machinists, and laborers willing to work through the long hauls in open space. We require people willing to handle the difficult task of forging this new foundation. It will require a great deal of attention to detail, irrevocably set schedules, community living, and above all the absolute focus of all involved. In short, what is needed most are those elite who can handle the rigors of becoming a supply army."_

Did she just call the former soldiers by name? Such a coy invitation. It was an absolute tease. They would flock to her by the hundreds.

Dorothy giggled at the very idea of it.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with that?" Director Huberts mumbled from behind her.

She'd about forgotten that the Human Resource Director was still there. Turning over her shoulder she narrowed her eyes at the man in question. The Marquis could not have been more correct in his assessment of these people being unprepared for such a thing. "We are supposed to hire them," she stated simply.

"Huh?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she allowed her displeasure to crinkle her nose. "It's a good thing that I'm here to handle these placements."

"Y-you are?" he stuttered in disbelief.

_I am now_, she raised an eyebrow at the thought. "Of course. The shipping lanes have always been my pet project."

"Well… yes," he fumbled.

Blinking at the dumbfounded man, she slightly shook her head and turned back to the television. "Who hired _you_ anyway?"

* * *

Quatre had only been to the Mars Satellite once before, but he didn't recall it being so active before. He remembered the circular hallways being nearly deserted last time, but now people seemed to be restlessly running back and forth.

With a level of suspicion, he watched it and stuck to the sidelines. Whatever was coming was not going to be quiet, and the fact that Dorothy was wrapped up in it was not settling his nerves.

When the shuttle from the neighboring colony had boarded, check-in had directed him to a guest room, but not to his beloved little instigator. Slipping along the hallways he wound his way up around the levels as they spiraled towards the control floors.

Turning around the bend of the hallway he saw a man backing his way out of an open office door. A set of folders fluttered after him in the low gravity of the satellite, and he attempted to catch them and pick the rest off the floor. He ducked to pick up a paper just in time as a coffee cup narrowly missed his head as it when cart-wheeling into the wall behind him with a harsh thud.

Reaching out, Quatre caught it before it could ricochet past him and down the hall any farther, and then bent to pick up a loose paper as well, handing it back.

"But how am I supposed to process all this?" he complained back to the open doorway, completely ignoring the on-looker.

"I'm sure you will do your best," a weary voice answered. "I need those applications revised and copied immediately."

"Revised for what?" he hopelessly stood clutching his scattered papers and folders and staring forlornly back into the doorway.

"Take out the reference portion and replace it with room for military service records."

"But," the man balked, "it isn't proper business practice to ask that anymore. It's a touchy subject, and—"

"Mr. Huberts," she finally appeared in the doorway and set a hand against her hip, "touchy subjects are the only ones that interest me. Now be a dear little HR Director and go make me copies."

With a shooing motion the man swallowed his displeasure, and dignity, and stormed off, practically tearing the coffee cup out his hand as Quatre silently offered it back to him.

Waiting for the man to make it past the bend in the rounded hallway, he turned to cast Dorothy a look as she stood in the doorway. "Up to old tactics again?" he mildly questioned.

With a smirk, she hummed and narrowed her eyes at him. "Spreading hate and discontent wherever possible."

"Off to a good start," he mumbled and followed her as she moved into the office again.

Hopping up on the desk, she crossed her legs and sighed contentedly. "You obviously didn't hear the news."

"What news?" he paused in front of her.

With an evil smirk she leaned forward and looked up at him. "There won't be a better seat in the Sphere for this little show than right here," she practically purred.

"What have you gotten me into this time?"

* * *

She was right. Not that he was overly enthused that she was right. But she was right.

As the next space shuttle docked, he watched the groups of people pour out of it. Typically there were only a few shuttles a day transporting Satellite employees back and forth to the neighboring colonies or one or two Earth ports, but the loads had been doubled by order of the officials.

Mostly due to Dorothy's "request."

Whatever sort of foreboding or dismay he'd heard in her voice when she first said she was coming here had been replaced with the morbid enthusiasm he'd come to expect from her when she got the chance to play the villain in her own little operas. That snidely evil attitude that she copped whenever she felt empowered over people's lives grated at his nerves.

Oracle.

He should have guessed when she started explaining what Miss Relena was trying to accomplish with this. It hadn't made sense why it involved her until Marquis Wayridge's name got dropped.

He didn't ask, but the look she gave him confirmed it. She was here under orders.

And he didn't like it.

Correction, he didn't like the way she was handling it. Of course, when did he ever like her tactics when she started in with things like this? It was the reason he never asked her to explain how she managed half of the negotiations she did on their colony project. He just didn't want to know.

He'd been on the receiving end of that far more than he wanted.

Silently scrutinizing the groups of people that were assembling on the relatively small satellite, he wondered if Miss Relena knew what she was asking for.

And he still didn't know where he was supposed to be fitting in with all of this.

* * *

"You know what I've been thinking," she mused as they wound their way to the upper observation rooms.

"That you have lousy people skills?" he muttered. The look he got for that made him flash her goofy smile, "Joke."

Sighing at him Dorothy brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "Quatre, you're not helping me."

"How exactly am I supposed to?" he honestly asked.

With a moment's thought she shrugged, "I don't know, you're just usually fun to have around." With a pointed look she brushed her shoulder against his as they walked, "And since I'm here, I intend to see the fun in it."

"Your fun has a way of getting me into trouble," he grumbled.

"Then you should be rooting for my success," she reasoned. "Anyway, I've been thinking that Winner Inc. needs to start looking into a little vertical integration."

"Meaning?"

"If companies like Shalemate Chemicals are in such a position to be a nuisance to your bottom line, perhaps you should be producing their products yourself. Start something up, pull your patronage out from under them and when they're starved to the point of eating their own stiletto shoes, buy them," she flippantly suggested.

He blinked at her a moment, analyzing that. "What do I know about chemical factories?"

Shaking her head, she stopped in front of the large observation room's door and smirked at him. "What do I know about terraforming Mars?"

He had to agree that she had a point as she stepped forward and let the automatic door slide open.

Inside, a group was loudly throwing around questions and conversation as Dorothy strode in and to the front of the room, barely leaving people enough opportunity to slide out of her way. Content to watch, Quatre hung back next to the door and crossed his arms to wait for the show.

It didn't take long as she twirled to face them when she reached the front and held up the folders that she had with her, waving for them to quiet down.

Taking a look at the assembled people he felt anxious as they quieted. They were a restless collection, many of them loudmouthed and extruding arrogance. Others were much quieter, but no more content. He tried to seem unconcerned by the amount of people who had already blatantly sized him up. Others were more interested in Dorothy and made a number of callus remarks about her skirt in such low gravity.

He didn't like this.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have been called together because the applications that I have list you all as having experience as mechanics and outfitters. My goal is to begin putting together the repair and load out crews that will be stationed here on the satellite, as well as one mechanic per ship. If anyone doesn't like those placements you may leave now. Do please give your names to the man at the back of the room."

Half of the eyes in the room turned to regard him and Quatre tried not to look completely unprepared. If he was supposed to be playing assistant she could have at least given him a notebook and a pen.

The room erupted in questions, and arguments, and a chorus of laughter, but no one took her up on the option of leaving.

Lucky him.

"You want a demonstration, girly?" someone called. "Need a man to change your oil?"

"Who the hell are you?" someone else questioned.

"Who wants to know?" another random voice threw back.

"Quiet!" a talk, bulky man bellowed from the middle of the room.

Dorothy rubbed at the bridge of her nose as though disgusted and then waved the folders again. "If you children are finished, I'm not," she called over the din. "If you want a position with this program you will learn to deal with me. I am Lady Dorothy Catalonia and I will be solely responsible for placing those I find worthy of my time."

Quatre nearly flinched as the chorus of angry retorts rose. What did she think she was helping with this? She was getting them more worked up than they already were.

"Candidates for Foreman are now being considered, and a decision will be reached on the key positions from there," she attempted to shout above the noise.

"That's me, girly!" a man stood on a chair and pronounced himself to the crowd.

An assortment of disagreements rebuked him, and Quatre twitched, watching as cautiously as possible. This could turn very ugly, very quickly, and there were a lot of bodies between him and Dorothy.

"Is this how you all behave at job interviews?" she tried shouting again, gaining only some of the scattered attention. "Don't think that your conduct around these halls will not be noticed. Disgracing this project will not be tolerated."

"Oh yeah, what you gonna do about it, legs?"

Dorothy paused, and turned to look directly at the heckler, holding his gaze until he turned away with a forced laugh. The others quieted, waiting to see what would come next. "Foreman. How many listed their interest in that position?" she finally and slowly turned away from staring at the offending man.

"Yo!"

"Here!"

Eight hands went up around the room.

"Only one of you will have it. If you are not chosen, you will be considered for other positions. If that is not acceptable you may leave after the announcement has been made."

"What about the rest of us?"

"You are all here because you are mechanically inclined. This has been a meet and greet session," she smirked. "Get cozy with the faces that you see here, you may be spending inordinate amounts of time together in the future."

Groans were heard between the mix of other, less considerate, comments. This was not how you introduced people. She should know better than this.

"When will Foreman be announced?" the same large man asked in a deep, gruff voice that carried around the room.

"As soon as I have decided."

"Don't you hear, girly? That's me," the same heckler piped up.

"Mr. Othelett, is it?" Dorothy calmly called him.

The man turned to her fully with a look of shock and the crowd slowly calmed again. "Got me picked out already, girly? Can't say I blame you," he teased.

"I told you, your conduct is being watched. If you assume that I don't know who each of you are, you are mistaken."

The veiled threat, curled his lip in a snarl. "What do you think you know?"

"Name and face," she shrugged. "And in which order your application is laying in the pile of those I'm considering," she insinuated.

"You'll talk respect to me, girl!" he growled, even though the chuckles from the others in room discounted any threat he tried to imply.

"I'll return what you give me," she raised an eyebrow and turned to look over the room again. "The rest of you may—"

"Who else wants to fight me for Foreman!" the same Mr. Othelett shouted again, jumping up on the chair a second time. "Bring 'em on."

"Mr. Othelett," she sighed in blatant annoyance.

"Sit down and shut up," the same gruff voice instructed through the mix of booing.

"Says who?"

"Me."

The man laughed hard enough that he nearly tripped stepping down from the chair.

"You're free to mingle," Dorothy closed in exasperation, and picked her way through the crowd towards the door.

"You ain't named me yet, girly, get that ass back here!" he called, trying to pry through the others. The gruff voiced applicant started after her as well as she quickly paced through the room, but was stopped when Othelett slapped a hand down on his shoulder. "And ain't no one tells me to shut up, fella."

Quatre already had the door open and was ready to grab Dorothy's wrist and drag her out if she didn't hurry up. As it was, by the time she stepped through the doorway ahead of him, he placed a guiding hand on her back and pushed her forward. "What was that supposed to be?" he growled at her, his voice low as he keep an ear tuned to listen to the sounds still coming from the room as the door shut behind them.

"That didn't go as well as I had planned," she mused.

"Could your planning include a little more common sense next time?" he suggested. "These people are already on edge, give them any excuse and—"

Muffled by the walls around them, he still heard a bellow of "Fight!" go up behind them.

Quatre whirled at the sound. Grabbing the corridor wall to push himself off towards it in the low gravity, she grabbed his other hand before he got away. "Dorothy!" he snapped at her for stopping him.

Dorothy however stood firm and held his shirt sleeve to keep him from interrupting too quickly.

Casually turning her eyes from the doorway to him she shrugged. "You've never been in a military school," she reminded him. With a small smirk, she turned back to the doorway to listen for a moment longer. "If you don't let them decide a victor they will continue fighting until they get one."

"What are you…?" he tried to question as she finally let him go and walked casually back to the doorway, allowing the noise from inside to escalate and then lower.

As the door slid aside, only half of the room looked up at her. Standing solidly in the doorframe, she raised one hand to keep the door from automatically closing and set the other on her hip as she watched the two instigators in the middle of the room.

She'd say that it had been decided alright.

A cry rose as some of those less interested in the fight called attention to her. The victor she had predicted looked up from where his opponent, Othelett, lay coughing on the floor at his feet. "This isn't the barracks, boys," she stated venomously. "Should you have a problem with each other, I invite you to take it outside," she motioned towards the windows on the side of the room showing the ink of open space.

The room calmed again, only semi-recognizing her authority to chastise them.

Meeting the eyes of her aggressive little brute she narrowed her eyes pointedly. "Clean up and find yourself a shuttle, gentlemen, we have no need for your particular services at this time," she dismissed the instigators.

She didn't back down the smirk that came to her as she turned away from the room and let her hair trail behind her wake. Strong, capable, diligent but dense. She did have to admit that it was a nice bit of nostalgia to be here for this.

Carefully looking back to make sure that Quatre was shadowing her, she could almost feel his tangible displeasure with her as he stayed stoically silent. He wasn't going to like what she was about to do.

He stopped when the door to the room opened again, but she took another couple steps before the man called after her. "Wait."

Pausing, she turned just enough over her shoulder to tell him that she wasn't that interested in hearing him out.

"You're mistaken."

Interesting opening.

"I don't like your game, girl, and I won't play it." He was slowly pacing towards them, and Dorothy turned half way to look back at his approach with a bored expression. Between them, Quatre squared himself up to the advancing man.

Physically he was so outmatched it was pathetic, but her dearest was not in a good mood, and should he think he was protecting her neither one of them was going to come out of it well.

The man in question had the good sense to stop well short of him though, his eyes never leaving her, and completely ignoring someone he obviously did not consider a threat.

That was either ignorant and rash, or he had already figured out that Quatre wouldn't be provoked by anything he was preparing to do.

She hoped for the latter. Quatre would be royally pissed at her otherwise.

"Cargo ships are very small, Mr… Alstead," she carefully named him. "They don't have room for delicate egos or bullies."

"I'm not here for a ship," he stated bluntly. "I am a mechanic. My position is Foreman of the base crew."

Dorothy tried very hard to back down the gleeful smile she felt at the boldness of the man. But as it was, she turned to face him a bit more and crossed her arms in front of her, closing her eyes to think. "You expect us to give you a position of authority on this station after that little debacle?"

"You just said ships are small. Crews figure out their limits easy. You don't have that on the ground."

"And your idea of keeping order is beating your subordinates into submission?" she looked back up at him.

He sized her up without any sense of apology. "Sometimes."

Hum. Squaring herself towards him, she cocked her head to the side and patronizingly asked, "Are you going to promise me that your crew won't end up in the infirmary more often than they are on the job?"

He lowered his nose to look at her defiantly, "I promise you nothing, girl."

_Purr…_. She closed her eyes once more on the idea. "It's a shame that you can't control that temper better. Your credentials were admirable. The position may well have been yours."

"You're mistaken. Give that position to any other man and you will disgrace yourself."

"Myself?" she blinked her eyes open to him once more.

"Whoever gave you authority was a coward, but if it's your job to place us, you will fail when this plan does."

"You seem to have a problem with authority, Mr. Alstead."

"I am authority." With the distant rumble of his voice, the simple sentence nearly sent a shiver down her back.

Magnificent. She continued to silently scrutinize the man and he simply stood and took it.

The door behind them opened again, and Othelett walked out under his own power, wiping at his lip. He stopped to look at the scene. Alstead turned over his shoulder to look at him and then gave the man a nod towards the shuttle bays in the other direction.

The man didn't protest and slipped down the hall without a word.

Alstead turned back to her and Dorothy met his eyes. "Your methods may work for you, but this project requires dedication. I have no use for those without loyalties."

"My loyalties aren't bought with a paycheck."

"That's all I offer," she shrugged.

"I said I don't like your game," he roughly reminded her. When she waited for an explanation he turned over his shoulder to look back at the door. "Five of those men will work, the rest can be considered for crews."

"Not only do you intend to tell me my job, but you intend to hand pick your own workers?"

"Yes."

Well, she supposed there wasn't much sense in arguing with that. With a little sigh she closed her eyes and turned with a swish of her hair to continue down the hall. "Inform them and have their names to me in one hour."

* * *

"You set that up," Quatre accused as soon as the door behind them had closed.

"Played out nicely, didn't it?" she smiled to herself, and walked around the desk to pull out Alstead's file from her top drawer. "You know who he reminds me of?" she conversationally asked, flipping open his file to fill in his placement. "Rasid."

"With a few minor differences," he muttered.

"Oh, I'm sure before he got his rank as Captain he beat up and befriended his share of people," she waved it off.

"You instigated that," he continued, leaning over her desk to stare at the top of her head while she filled in the paperwork. "That could have turned ugly."

"But it didn't," she reminded him. "If it had, I wouldn't have hired him."

"Dorothy, look at me."

Oh dear, now she'd done it. Pausing her work, she looked up to meet his eyes and tried not to flinch. Why did she always resort to this attitude?

"Why are you here?"

So bloody earnest. She tried to back down her indignation at having Quatre of all people question her, but it was her natural defense. "I'm placing people," she stated the obvious.

"Why you?"

"Who else?" she raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that HR director down the hall would have hired that man?"

"No," he bluntly stated.

"That's exactly why I'm here." Standing, she stepped back to the small porthole window for something else to look at. "These people don't understand what Miss Relena is trying to accomplish. In giving these people a place to start over she is feeding off of their military mindsets and their need for group loyalties. The whole idea is so poetically beautiful that she is the only one who could have come up with it. But you are exactly right. Things could turn ugly. Unless the right people are chosen for the key positions they will never bond together."

She paused, but there was nothing coming from him. Quatre needed to understand that she wasn't here for her own amusement. …Purely for her own amusement anyway. She was playing with people, yes. But she was uniquely gifted for this position.

Alstead was right, the people that gave her this job were cowards. But they were very smart cowards.

"You're not actually disagreeing with me," she quietly prodded at him as the silence lengthened. "You just don't like my methods."

"That's usual," he snipped.

What the hell did he think he knew about it anyway? Her anger flared as he refused to understand.

Dorothy spun on him, stalking back to the desk he was still leaning over. He rubbed at his eyes, his head bowed in resignation, and it only fueled her further. She was not some ignorant little girl that needed her daddy's advice on how to play nice with the other children!

Grabbing Alstead's folder she shoved it in his face, making him flinch backwards. "You know exactly why I'm here," she snapped. "This is the same forsaken lot of people that were trying to blow you to confetti not two years ago. The same group of sheep looking for a soulless order to follow." She slapped the folder back down on the desk and glared at him. "So help me, I intend to scrutinize anyone I place in a position to give those orders."

Silence.

She didn't know what she was expecting from him, but it wasn't the quiet, knowing look he was throwing back at her.

She couldn't take that look anymore and spun away from him and stalked back to the window, wishing there was more room for her to pace in this tiny little office. "I had expected you to understand that," she threw at him again, willing him to say something.

Still nothing came. The silence caved in on her, the small room was suffocating but she refused to say another word until he finished playing ignorant like he was. If he hadn't been between her and the door she would have marched out just to get out of here.

Finally she heard him shift and draw a breath before he finally responded. "Then why am I here?"

What kind of question was that? "No one's keeping you," she snipped unthinkingly.

"You asked me here."

"I thought you'd be a bit more appreciative of the situation. I was wrong."

She heard him sniff but forced herself not to turn around. Instead she stared unseeingly out at the ink of space. "Appreciate it?" he snorted. "Appreciate what? The fact that you've gone back to being the good little war spy? The recon agent again? The whisper in the right ear? Isn't that what you called yourself?"

Dorothy tilted her head to the side, not able to turn enough to see him. "You act like I'm not used to," she returned far more calmly now.

"Oh, I know you're used to it. But you shouldn't have to anymore. The war is over, you've moved past this."

That earnest note in his voice irritated her, but she chuckled without humor. "Is that it? You really think it was just an act that I put on during the war?" Did he think so little of her?

"No," he quietly sighed. "But I know that you grew to hate your own kindness while trying to play all the angles before. You're still dealing with individual people. There is no need for you to ever go through that again."

She almost rolled her eyes at the sentimental mush but closed them instead. "One for the good of the many," she half-heartedly returned.

"Do you think that helps me?"

When did this become about him? "You're not looking at the big picture," she stated.

"The big picture can wait."

Somewhere inside she knew that he was simply worried about her, but she resented him for that too. She resented that of all people he was the one not backing her. She couldn't do this with him nagging at her. She lost her strength around him. "Let me finish this, Quatre. I'll let you tell me the consequence afterwards."

"Don't dismiss me."

She wasn't sure if it was a plea or a demand, but her attitude wouldn't back down. She couldn't lose her focus now. There was too much that could go wrong if it did. "I won't leave this to anyone else," she stated with finality. There was no one else to do it.

Again the silence stretched and unnerved her. There was something cold in the pit of her stomach, but she wasn't moving from the spot she was rooted to.

"Then let me know when you're finished," he stated quietly.

Before she could think of anything to retort with the door opened and she turned quickly to watch in disbelief as Quatre left without so much as a last glance.

Stunned, she watched the door slide shut and stay that way. But… that wasn't what she'd wanted at all.

* * *

He pushed his code into the keypad beside the door of his guest room for a second time and nearly hit the thing when it lit red and denied him again. Forcing a calming breath, he tried it again more carefully and the stupid thing finally let the door slide open.

Once inside Quatre stood silently as the door closed, and alone he glanced around at the tiny little grey room that held two bunks. His luggage was laying on one where he'd left it. A shirt lay next to it where he had quickly changed when he arrived.

Picking it up, he paused, and then viciously threw the thing at the open case. Stepping over, he punched it into the case and furiously zipped the thing closed.

With nothing left to beat up on, he stopped himself. Leaning down, he braced himself up on either side of it and hung his head.

She didn't need him. She didn't even want him here. All she wanted was an audience to applaud her. Acknowledge her and her all important "assignment."

Forget it!

If that was the only reason she wanted him around she could do it alone. She certainly had all the angles covered. If she didn't want to listen to him, then he'd leave her to have her merry little fun. He didn't care.

Standing straight, he picked up the case and turned to the door, but stopped.

She wasn't coming. She wouldn't come to stop him. She wouldn't come to see where he'd gone. She would never, ever, apologize for treating him like… like….

She treated him the same way she would anyone. He'd thought that he would be able to talk to her. Personally be there for her. All he wanted was her confidence, to know that she would still listen to him if these plans of hers went awry. He knew what she was doing. He also knew that she really believed she was the only one that could do it.

Maybe she was. But she just pushed his concern aside. She couldn't even be bothered by him.

There was nothing special to her about him at all.

And so, what, did he sit here and wait for a knock that wouldn't come? Wait for an apology that would never admit that she was wrong, or even remotely tell him what he wanted to hear?

Why?

So she could turn it around and tease him for being worried later? So he could watch more of the same while she did her haughty little gloating behind closed doors?

No….

No.

His jaw worked back and forth and he shook his head. Not this time.

Maybe she'd figure out what it felt like to be left behind and snubbed.

He almost snorted at the image. Not that it would even register to her. Always stubborn. He knew that. He'd just wanted to her let down the guard and let him in.

It wasn't going to happen. He'd told her exactly what he'd wanted. "_Let me know when you're finished."_

He didn't care to stand here and wait for her to finish with her devious plans. She could just do her own thing and he'd do his. She didn't need him. Didn't want him. Didn't care.

He gnashed his teeth together and hung his head a second before sucking in a deep breath and setting his resolve. One more look at the door and he moved forward and let himself out.

Five minutes later he had relinquished his room arrangements. Twenty minutes after that he was on a shuttle bound away from the Satellite. Which port it landed at he didn't care. He'd find a way home from there.

He was not going to be the first to apologize this time.

* * *

Three hours later, Dorothy sat with her chin propped up with her hand. Her right hand tapped a pen against the stacks of applications she had in front of her. But her eyes were stuck on the closed door.

A glance at the clock only made her tap the pen harder.

He wasn't coming.

She had calmed down substantially, but she was growing irritated again. She had reasoned that some time apart would be good after that spectacle, but she had assumed that he would find her again by the time the small cafeteria opened for dinner this evening.

It nagged at her to leave things that way. She didn't honestly know what to say though. Perhaps she could just smooth it over with a few niceties. Quatre was always a moody one, but she didn't get why he'd gone off on her like that. She probably didn't help the situation, but he had no right to just storm off like that.

What was his problem? She was the one doing all the work around here.

Tossing the pen down and watching it roll between the folders she pushed herself back from the desk and stood up. Fine. He wanted to play the whiny, emotional little man, she'd try to come up with something sappy so that he'd snap out of it.

The things she didn't do for him.

She shouldn't have asked him here. She hadn't been thinking. He didn't like the way she handled things. Dorothy still didn't know why. It was who she was. He may as well get used to it.

He was concerned for her. So? He should be used to that too.

This was her assignment. She had to do this. As soon as she watched this collection of lost sheep start pouring through the front door it had become personal to her. She wasn't leaving, she wasn't backing down, and she would make damned sure that Miss Relena's little day-dream came true. That was all there was to it.

She sighed to herself as she left the office and paced wearily down the corridor.

It wasn't hard to figure out this long after the fact that Quatre had wanted her to open up to him. He wasn't wrong for that she supposed. But so much of this she played by ear that she got very defensive when people questioned her next move.

He was a strategist, possibly more than she was. She played the odds one hand at a time, Quatre liked to know the entire field of play at a single glance. It was a strength that she had envied in him more than once. But to each their own.

But she could not afford to let that guard down, not here. She couldn't let Quatre's earnest, moralizing cloud the destination. If there were a lighter approach she might be swayed to take it, but not here. This wasn't the time to test out tactics that were still foreign to her.

She lost her boundaries around him. Lost that stubborn resolve that she knew and loved like a security blanket. Lost her strength.

Ha! Lost her head half the time.

She didn't have that luxury. She'd wanted him to understand that. To stand by her anyway. Help her, not condemn her.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped up to the check in station. How did he not understand that by now?

Pecking in her request for information to find his room, the screen popped up with a yellow message. "Guest Check Out: 15:26"

Dorothy blinked at it curiously a moment and then shook her head and tried it again. Again, the screen popped up the message in front of her.

Check out? He left?

Slowly she turned from the screen to glance down the corridor towards the lower levels and the docking and shuttle bays.

"He left me?" she whispered. Of all the incorrigible… obstinate… oh.

Oops.

* * *

Marcolm Alstead found the correct office door and hesitated before bothering two short knocks. He didn't like trying to act all noble. He was a mechanic. He didn't go in for fake smiles and mouthy people.

"Come in."

As the door slid aside, he stood a moment longer outside and sized up the girl unconcernedly working at the desk. This one especially was trouble.

"Mr. Alstead. I thought you'd abandoned the simple task I gave you. I said one hour."

He walked in, gritting his teeth at the insubordinate little brat. "I have located two others." He un-apologetically tossed the applications down directly on top of what she was already working on.

To his mild surprise she didn't seem to care and picked up the papers to look them over. "You're sure?"

He nodded with a grunt.

"How many others do you feel you need at the moment?" she questioned, pulling out a folder and adding the applications to it without comment.

"Three."

"Check back with me in two days. At the rate we're taking on hopefuls there should be another whole stack of applicants to choose from."

He watched her as she went back to her original work.

After a moment she looked up at him apparently to see why he was still there. "The main loading bay has been informed of your placement. Feel free to look around and see what is available to you. Requisition for supplies will need to be done as quickly as possible. The first ship that we have acquired will be temporary. It's trash, but it will fly for now. I want people in their respective positions as quickly as possible," she finished. When he still didn't move she laid her pen down and propped up her chin with a hand, "Something else?"

Narrowing his eyes carefully Alstead scrutinized her openly. "What's with playing nice?" he bluntly asked.

The girl blinked at him and then cracked a weary smile. "You said you didn't like my game."

He straightened his shoulders at the insinuation and bowed his head towards her, "You'll regret it."

Rolling her eyes she leaned back in her chair to cross her arms. "Mr. Alstead, I've been threatened by better men than you. If you think you're so great, I suggest you prove it. And," she stood up before he could retort, "I suggest you have a little more appreciation for the only person on this Satellite that thinks you will actually be worth the trouble. So if you're finished, kindly get the hell out of my office."

He stood and looked down at her for a moment and then tilted his head to the side. "You do this with everyone?"

A wicked little smirk lit her face and she sat back down, neatly crossing her legs, and pulling the papers from the desk into her lap. "No, just the ones I like."

With a nod he finally reached out a hand towards her. "Name's Marcolm, or Alstead. No 'Mister.' Everyone else calls me Sir."

She looked at his offered hand for a moment and then reached up and took it with a delicate little shake. "Dorothy Catalonia. You may refer to me as Lady." With a humored smirk she went back to her papers, "Everyone else calls me nasty names."

He actually chuckled to himself once he was out of the office and down the hall.

* * *

Dorothy watched the closed door for a moment and then swiveled her chair to push away from the desk and let herself slump. Turning, she stared out the porthole window and then closed her eyes and dropped her head back.

"Alright, Love. I'll try to be kinder," she mumbled to the empty room.

Turning back to the never ending papers she attempted to focus again.

"But I'm not finished being mad at you."

* * *

He should have apologized. Said something, done something. Just let it go maybe.

He could have at least stayed. Given her the opportunity to… brush it off as usual and all but call him stupid for being concerned.

Somewhere or other Quatre had realized that he was being childish, but he still just didn't care.

He kept telling himself that she wasn't going to break down and apologize with any sincerity no matter what he did, or didn't do. It'd been three days, she had probably figured out that he was gone by now.

But he just wanted her to get the point. Wanted her to get the message that he had better things to do in life than trail around after her.

Of course he didn't, but that was beside the point.

All of the silent griping he was doing wasn't helping anything. And as he finally left work and passed by the janitorial crew, he knew he was just waiting for his phone to ring.

But he'd given her the suggestion, and if his disappearing act upset her, Dorothy would take it seriously. _"Then let me know when you're finished."_ According to any news reports he'd heard that could literally translate into months.

His phone sat heavy in his pocket and he wondered again what she would say if he called to just see how it was going. If she asked why he suddenly cared and hung up on him he supposed he deserved it.

No, not Dorothy. Her apologies were subtle, and so were her retaliations. He was going to pay for this and she was going to enjoy it.

And he'd take it. That was almost as frustrating a thought as any of the rest of this.

Nothing ever changed.

* * *

"Fighting is essentially a masculine idea; a woman's weapon is her tongue." – Hermione Gingold

"It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them." - Pierre Beaumarchais

AN: Alright, I admit that this isn't a very good piece to show Christmas spirit and joy, but I hope you all consider it a present anyway. I had to deliver something on Christmas Eve. My warmest wishes to everyone no matter your religious beliefs, and my hope for a peaceful and happy new year! All my love to you and yours – Isis.


	59. Chapter 59

AN: (CRY) You people are so wonderful! For those who were somewhat saddened by the ending of Realizations, believe me I understand the feeling. Thank you for everything! And so, now that that is out of my system, let's see where we left off with our dear Quatre and Dorothy, shall we? When we parted last the couple had just seen their first major fight. I say major fight because, well, this couple does seem to argue a lot don't they?

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 59

"Why?"

"Because she feels she's suited for it," he waved a hand to dismiss the stupidity of the argument. "I don't know."

The television replayed the list of top stories, one of which involved two Preventers officers hauling out four men from a Mars Satellite shuttle. The news was crawling over the idea that the outpouring of former soldiers for the positions with the IRIS shipping line was turning violent.

Quatre was trying very hard not to speculate on why.

"Hum," came the soft comment.

Trowa was not helping him. "I tried talking her out of it, or something. She wouldn't listen to me," he over explained.

Silence. The other end of the phone line said nothing and Quatre just sat glaring at the television.

"It's not like anything I say is going to mean anything," he continued. "You can't reason with her when she's in the middle of a power struggle."

Again he watched the same clip on the news reel and wondered what she'd done this time.

"Why aren't you there?"

The calm, almost curious sounding question stopped him. "I realize I'm ranting, but did you just hear me?" he asked his friend. "She doesn't care what I think."

"Not what I asked."

"Trowa, I _was_ there," he stated for the second time in the conversation. "She didn't want me around."

Silence again.

His friend's ability to be completely unshakable had awed Quatre from the first time they met. But by now he wished he could get something besides a calm, collected focus out of him just once. Just to make himself feel better.

But taking a breath and sighing loudly he rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know," he finally admitted much softer. "I just didn't want to be around."

True to form, his quiet friend didn't bother to interrupt that. The man was subtlety embodied. He could always get to the heart of the matter in twenty words or less. As irritating as it could be some times, Quatre was more grateful for that than possibly anything else in his life.

Right now he supposed he needed it.

Trowa was the only person in the universe that had heard him utter the words "I love her." He didn't expect that to change any time soon. But ever since he'd admitted that months ago the—mostly unspoken—encouragement for him to tell her had become almost tangible.

For someone so quiet he was awfully pushy.

"She doesn't need me there," he finally made a resounding conclusion.

"No."

Was that an agreement? "So why would I want to be there?" he tried to clarify.

"…You wouldn't have called otherwise."

What kind of logic was…? He hated it when Trowa was right.

"You want an excuse."

With a frustrated sigh, he clicked off the television and slumped back in the chair to stare up at the ceiling. "And if I do?"

"You have it."

He supposed people getting carted off for a minor public brawl was as good an excuse to check in as it was going to get. The worst she could do was not answer him.

Giving his phone a sour look he closed his eyes. "You know, sometimes I really do just call to say hi."

Trowa was laughing at him again. It didn't have to be vocal. Quatre could hear it without a sound coming from the other end of the line.

Dispensing the pleasantries he said his goodbyes and hung up. There wasn't really any getting around the fact that Trowa was right. He wanted to at least call. And he had a reasonable excuse.

He didn't even know what he was angry about. After most of a week he was just mad that he was still mad.

Flipping open his phone again he dialed before he talked himself out of it. Slouching over, he placed his cheek against the cool finish of the end table beside him, listening to the rings.

"No, I didn't get anyone arrested on purpose," she opened.

Quatre blinked and sat silent for a second before he shook off the oddity of hearing her normal, calm voice. For the past few days he'd always mentally pictured her yelling at him. "Are you all right?" he ignored it.

"Of course. I'm a long ways from the receiving rooms these days. We hadn't even processed those men yet apparently."

Relief washed through him. More than he was expecting actually. "I… just wanted to make sure."

"Thank you, dear, but I'm fine."

She sounded sincere, and he couldn't find fault with it. "Alright." There wasn't really anything else he could think to say. For once the voices in his head had been silenced, and everything that he'd planned out to tell her just turned to sand.

"I haven't caught the news. How badly are they abusing this?"

"It's a hot topic. The whole project is getting called up and regurgitated," he answered, trying to be helpful.

"That's usual. Well, everyone is used to defense positions. We just need a positive spin in the other direction."

"Do you have one?" he questioned, wanting to hear her plans.

"We're close to naming the crew of the first ship. As soon as that's done, most of the important decisions will be made, and there will be a standard set of what we're looking for. I intend to step back a bit after that."

It brought a slight smile to his face to hear that. "I see."

"It'll be at least another couple weeks before I can tell you I'm finished though."

And that cut right through him. "Dorothy, listen, I—"

"Uh-uh," she interrupted. "Don't. You were right, but I'm going nowhere until I know that this is capable hands. It may be far longer than that, I don't know. But I'm going to do what I think is best."

He picked his head up and sat up straight in the chair to nod to himself. "I understand."

"No, you don't," she teased.

He heard it and it brought a weary smile to his lips. "I do," he reassured. "You don't do anything half-way."

"Nothing I care about," she corrected.

"I never intended to imply that you don't care about this," he informed her. Her goals were noble; he would be the first to say it.

"What are you so worried about then?"

He didn't honestly know if he had an answer to that. "I just don't want to see you caught in the middle of anything."

With a little chuckle she hummed at him. "Try having a little more faith in me, darling. Being in the middle has fewer advantages than controlling things from the sidelines."

Was that it? Was he supposed to trust her more? "Alright," he stated, sounding far more assured than he was. "Please just be careful."

"Anything for you, dearest."

* * *

"What's wrong with Quatre this time?" Catherine asked as he hung up the phone and continued reading the magazine in front of him.

"The same," he mildly commented.

Finished stowing anything in their split trailer home that could be jostled around in the next move, she flopped down on the couch and stretched out. Crossing her legs over his lap, she used him for a foot cushion. Trowa moved his magazine just in time before she squished it and Catherine crossed her arms behind her head for a pillow. "What are we going to do with those two?" she wondered out loud. "And why does he call _you_ for dating advice?"

"Sometimes he just says hi."

She raised her head to look over at him and snorted before flopping back and closing her eyes. "I still don't get you two."

He said nothing in his defense.

"They need help, Trowa," she stated with a mock sigh. "It may be up to us." As usual there was no response. "We'll be in L4 another 3 weeks."

"She won't be."

"Well, duh, I could invite her, you know."

"She's working."

"Dorothy has a job?" Catherine blinked.

Trowa nodded and turned the page.

"Boy, if I was her, I wouldn't have one," she mused and then shook it off. "Well… what else can we do?"

"Nothing."

"Trowa, that's not helping," she reprimanded.

"He'll figure it out."

"Quatre isn't the problem, he's already smitten," she waved for emphasis.

He nodded absently. "He's the solution."

Catherine elbowed up to look over at him in annoyance and then huffed. "Can you not use a compound sentence?"

* * *

"I see you're enjoying your babysitting role, Foreman," Dorothy sniffed as a group of four men were sitting in silence in the small shuttle-bay waiting area.

Alstead stood near the doorway of the receiving area watching them closely. "Who called you?" he gruffly questioned.

"No one. I'm just here for my allotted downtime," she waved it off.

Due to the effects of low gravity on the human body over long periods of time, it was required that employees take leave to one of the neighboring colonies for a set number of hours a week. "Grav-time" as it was known, was logged by employee number as they entered and exited the routine shuttles that made the rounds between the Satellite and two of the closest colonies.

Technically since she wasn't an employee Dorothy had no requirements on her time, but after more than a week of this she was ready to actually stretch her legs. The Mars Satellite was one of several such entities that floated between the division of space that signified Earth orbit and Colony orbit. Those colonies that were close to them housed sections specific to this need inside their spaceports, and rented its use out for a small fee.

In their mostly-private section of the spaceport, these four men sat waiting for their required time to end before they boarded a shuttle home. Obviously they had gotten themselves into trouble. The one holding an icepack to the side of his face was a fair giveaway of that.

"One shore leave they all regress to juvenile delinquents," she mused, throwing the group a disapproving look.

"We won't be reporting this," Alstead informed her sternly and she turned back to regard him.

"Of course not. We have enough trouble with our hopefuls picking fights," she reasoned. "Our employees are an embodiment of our mission." She raised her voice just enough to ensure that the men knew she was talking about them. "Everything an employee does reflects back on this project, Mars, myself, and Vice Minister Relena." Giving Alstead a faked smile she sweetly stated, "We have nothing but competent and worthwhile employees. Anyone proving otherwise will be given leave to be worthwhile elsewhere."

"Understood," he nodded, but obviously wasn't impressed with her speech. "We deal with our own."

Giving him an honest chuckle, she stepped by him. "I knew I hired the right man."

* * *

"Have you abandoned me already? No calls, no emails. You've replaced me as your best friend, haven't you?"

Catherine Bloom was a true child of the entertainment industry. Moderation was simply not in her blood. "Nothing like that, dear," Dorothy reassured her. "I seem to have just gotten myself caught up in a little project."

"Yeah, that's what I want to know. Since when do you have a job?"

Dorothy walked by several jewelry counters as she wandered through the stores of the spaceport. Blinking oddly to herself she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Trowa said you were working."

"And how would Trowa know that?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Because Quatre called to whine about you again."

She stopped short, "Excuse me?" The lady behind her bumped into her arm as she skirted around the sudden roadblock. Dorothy tried to flash her an apology smile but got glared at for her trouble.

"Well you keep being mean to the poor man."

"What has he been telling you?" she nearly screamed.

"Oh I'm joking!" Catherine gushed. "Jeez, defensive much?"

"I am not," she snapped and quickly kept walking.

"No, no, not a bit. I can tell," she teased. "Didn't mean to hit a nerve."

"You didn't," she bitterly stated, heading straight for a shoe store.

"Oh I know you can lie better than that. I was being funny. I said something about inviting you out again and Trowa said that Quatre said you were working. You know those two, they keep track of everything. But what gives? Lover's spat?"

"You watch entirely too much daytime TV," she commented instead.

"We're talking about your bad habits, not mine. I just called to nag at you for not calling, but this is a lot more fun. Come on, give it up," Catherine prodded.

With an annoyed hiss of a sigh she picked up a cute pair of sandals and realized they weren't anywhere near her size and dropped them again. "He wasn't particularly impressed with my new project."

"And we're back to this," she narrated. "What project?"

"The IRIS transportation system."

"…The who?"

"That shipping line to Mars that Miss Relena's been all over the news trying to get people to sign up for."

"Oh! That thing everyone's fighting about. …What do you have to do with that?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes but paused and suddenly wondered the same thing. "I'm overly qualified to deal with idiotic former soldiers," she bitterly grumbled.

"Oh? Anybody I know?" she teased.

"I'm sure you're familiar with two of them."

"Aw, come on, what are you so grumpy about?" she sing-songed. "He just said you were working."

Dorothy opened her mouth and then closed it again. What was she supposed to say? That she highly doubted that that was all that got said, or at least implied, between these three? As dear as she was, she didn't trust Catherine.

Shaking that off she realized she'd already completely betrayed herself by being paranoid. "A bit stressed lately I guess," she gave the lame excuse.

"Oh," she drawled. "Sounds like someone needs a special Quatre backrub."

Dorothy broke a chuckle at the very idea. "And how would you know about something like a 'special Quatre backrub'?" she insinuated.

"You have to con him into it a little but all those piano lessons really paid off."

Catherine capped that with a dreamy little hum and Dorothy's smile drooped. "This is possibly the most disturbing conversation I've had in months," she stated deadpan.

A wicked little laugh came over the line and Dorothy dragged herself out of the shoe store and into the busy corridor of the shopping area. "You just can not take a joke today, can you?"

That had better have been a joke. "No," she huffed.

"What is up with you?" she prodded again.

"I'm not feeling all that well." It was somewhat true. Perhaps the low gravity had taken more of a toll on her than she'd expected. She was feeling drained suddenly and a little queasy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Catherine gasped. "Are you alright? Do you have a fever?"

Just for good measure she checked. "I don't think so."

An evil hum sounded again from the phone, "Maybe you need more than a backrub."

"Catherine!"

"What? I was just thinking a little 'kiss it and make it better' medicine would be nice."

And everyone in the bloody Sphere thought she was bad! Dorothy rolled her eyes and picked out a bench in the middle of the walking area to sit down. "Not going to happen."

"Aw, why not?" she whined.

Staring at her own feet kicked out in front of her, Dorothy simply shook her head. "I suppose because I'd have to apologize first."

"Uh-oh. What'd ya do?"

The whole list of her defenses came scrolling up in her head, but still she just sat, staring at nothing. "I'm really not quite sure."

Catherine was quiet a moment and she listened to see if her friend was going to actually come up with a good way around this.

"So… I was right. Lover's spat, huh?" she teased.

That didn't help.

* * *

Catherine gave lousy advice. She'd noted that from the very beginning. And the woman was entirely too cheery for her own good. It was just sort of the way she managed to bounce around so much in life, but it wasn't actually faked either. It just took a while before you got to see too much of Catherine's calmer, really sincere side. And even then it came is spurts.

Dorothy supposed she couldn't say much about that. Everyone had their fronts, some more secure than others, and some more effective was all. It wasn't any different.

Ah! She hated being all melancholy! Every single time something went the least bit off with that man she ended up brooding about it. How dare he!

"Next," she chirped as the latest opponent skidded across the mat on his knees after completely missing with his lunge and nearly falling on his own foil.

The recreation center was not her first choice of places to end up while on colony. These people were the reason she got away from the Satellite in the first place. But driven by an incessant need to blow off this miserable mood she was in, she'd walked in, looked around, and picked a fight.

The first idiot who had grinned and wiggled his eyebrows when he asked her what she wanted to do with her grav-time got called out on the mat first. She didn't believe he'd even held a foil before and had coached him along for a bit while disgracing him.

She'd had no shortage of takers since.

"I'm not real good at this," he warned. A young kid probably no older than she was stood before her and patted her last opponent on the shoulder as he grudgingly moved off to watch. "But I'll give it go."

"That's a nice attitude," she commented, readying herself. _For a loser_, she mentally added.

"Don't hurt me now," he added as he stepped in to begin.

_Do you think I'm going to underestimate you from an opening like that?_ Either he was playing her to try for an advantage, or he was simply being honest.

Hum, being honest it seemed. He came out swinging from the shoulder and Dorothy simply sidestepped his first blow and pivoted around him. "But attitude isn't everything," she remarked with a smirk as they faced each other again.

"Don't be playing with me now," he smiled back at her, still brandishing his foil like a club.

Well, at least he was enjoying this. She'd give him credit for that. Once again he stepped out strong but slashed at her with no finesse or regard for how she might move to counter. With a well-timed flick of her own foil she batted his away and stepped back to keep him from running into her. "I think you're missing some of the basics."

"Like never fight with a pretty lady if you can't win?" he teased.

"No, that's just common sense," she granted him a slight smile. "The basics are that you swing with your elbow and aim with your wrist. You're putting entirely too much shoulder effort into it."

Pausing, he took a couple practice swings but readied himself again. "That seems kind of limiting."

"Fencing is a graceful sport. Your goal isn't to bludgeon your opponent to death." Stepping into a true start position for the first time since she'd taken these men on, she narrowed her eyes at the young man in front of her. "A slow bleed can be just as nice."

A couple hoots rose from the tiny audience that was half-heartedly watching the spectacle.

He cleared his throat and nodded to her uncertainly. "Sounds like you've had some experience."

Dorothy held her position without a flicker of acknowledgement and didn't comment. She fought to ignore that familiar dagger that ran through her chest at the offhanded comment.

Of course she had experience. Even these pliable foils that were typically regarded as harmless could draw blood if you used them right. The less bendable, the easier it became. Add a tip or a blade to that and she could….

"Do exactly as I say," she challenged, cutting her own thoughts off. "Drop your elbow to your waist and keep it locked there."

The young man looked down at himself and pressed his elbow into his side. "Like this?"

"Block!" Two swift steps and she lunged towards him.

Completely off guard he managed to raise his foil just in time to stop hers.

With a smile she held her position and met his eyes. "You'll find you get significantly faster when you practice the basics first."

"…Oh yeah?" he managed to mutter, his eyes wide and still locked on hers between the crossed foils.

Brown eyes. Mud brown, she decided. All too common really.

Stepping back a pace she disengaged. "Elbow locked again please," she directed.

This time he didn't look away from her to make sure he was doing it right. Smart boy. "Block!" she cried again, swing at his left side.

He managed the block but had automatically assumed that she would pause again. She didn't. With a quick shift, all it took was a flick of her wrist to gain a touch to his right side, directly below where his foil was held across his chest. Once again stepping back she looked at him expectantly.

"Aw, now you're not fighting fair," he tried to chuckle it off once he figured out what had happened.

"This is perfectly fair," she countered. "You're just slow."

"Hey, I'm learning!" he protested, flashing her a goofy grin. "I admitted I wasn't any good."

"That's why I'm educating you."

"Alright," he nodded. "I'm game. Give me another try."

"En garde," she smirked, and moved in one fluid step to hit him squarely in the chest.

Belatedly looking down at where the cap of the foil was set against his breastbone, he looked at her over the bend in her foil. "…I'm not sure the elbow thing is working for me."

"You're missing one crucial element."

"Just one?"

Backing away again she set her free hand on her hip. "Your foil is nearly three feet long. Stop waiting until I get so close to react."

With a laugh he ran a hand through his blond hair. "I bet you say that to all the boys."

"En garde," she raised an eyebrow to silence that tease and he immediately brought his elbow in and his blade up. Good boy. "Let's just take this slow, shall we?" she smiled.

Stepping in she was rewarded with watching him flick the foil in her direction, ready for another charge. Instead she brought hers up slowly and tried eight different trusts, allowing him to block each one.

"You have a feel for it now. Do you see how little movement is actually required to protect yourself?"

"Yeah actually." If his smile was any indication he was entirely too confident with his newfound skills. "But you can't just stay on the defensive all the time. I thought this was all about attacking your enemy and fighting to the death, and whatever."

She chuckled at him as he made little stabbing movements towards her. "Try it."

"Pardon?" he blinked.

"Well go on, try it."

"Alright…." Trying to take a more formal stance as he had seen her do, he stepped in quickly and this time lunged at her cap first, instead of swinging from the side.

Dorothy stepped back and easily blocked this first attempt. Undaunted he adjusted and stepped in again, aiming higher this time. Again she backpedaled and blocked him. Faster this time he stepped and lunged at her, the force behind it finally becoming something worthy of a fight.

She turned her body just enough to make him miss and stepped into him before he had the change to correct his forward motion. Raising her foil with a flick of her wrist they both stopped with this arm extended into thin air and her capped tip almost directly under his chin.

"Hum, you're right," she mused, so close she could count this breaths, "it seems I don't fight fair."

"Ha, ya think?" he grinned at her.

"All in all, not bad for a beginner," she closed her eyes and stepped quickly out of range and then sauntered off the mat. "You just need your practice now."

"Is that an offer?"

Neatly placing her foil back in the collection bin in the corner she shook her head. "I don't take on students."

"You seem to be a fine teacher," he coaxed.

"On the contrary, I have a nasty habit of laughing at people." Finished, she walked around the mat and towards the door.

"Well, I won't say that I'm a man that would probably take that well," he related, lazily bending his foil around his shoulders with both hands. "So if you won't let me be your student, how about you let me take you to dinner?"

Pausing at the door she looked back at him a moment. Wide-eyed, good natured, young, lean, blond…. Huh. Dorothy supposed she knew why she'd spent this long with him already. With a catty little smile she gave him her farewell. "I won't date anyone who can't beat me."

* * *

That wasn't really true. As much as she'd like it to be, it wasn't. Of course that nameless distraction didn't need to know that.

Dorothy stepped off the shuttle and made her way through the throngs of people who were still gathering in the receiving areas waiting for their shot at being hired. Tired, she didn't feel like sneaking a peek at the hopefuls surrounding her and walked on through without a glance at anyone.

Climbing the spiraling halls into the employee sections and then towards the working rooms and offices the crowds diminished sharply. The higher you went, the less reason people had to venture here.

Just like everywhere else. The higher you got, the less people you had to deal with. It was just her breeding that made her so cynical of those that enjoyed their position at the top. Correction, her breeding understood it, it was her experiences that made her cynical.

Wretched vultures always chose the highest vantage points.

"Lady Catalonia."

Pausing, she turned just enough to see Director Huberts scurrying after her. Now what? "Yes, Director," she initiated, but continued walking on.

Catching up to her he puffed a bit as he fell into step behind her. "I heard you were back. We have an issue."

"Such as?"

"Three men got into a fight on colony this afternoon."

Dorothy rolled her eyes where he couldn't see it. What idiot had told this pencil-neck? And there were four men. "Has there been any sort of formal complaints or arrest warrants?"

"What? Of course not. Just a bar fight."

"Then who told you?"

"I… I heard it around."

Oh that just sounded so sneaky of the bureaucrat. Was he out rubbing elbows with the "enlisted" men? Befriending his fellow "troupes?" Ha! More likely that no one realized he was in the men's room stall. "Then why are you telling me?"

"Shouldn't we do something about them?"

"If there has been no formal complaint then we are the only ones who know about it. Making a spectacle out of it will only draw attention. If something goes public, by all means, chastise them for poor conduct. Otherwise they are simply our employees, not our children." Reaching her office door Dorothy looked back at him over her shoulder. "If you want to do something about it inform their supervisors. Although I assure you that Foreman Alstead is already aware of the situation."

"He is?" the man blinked. "But… how did…?"

"He is," she stated simply.

"But," he shook that off, "what good will that do?"

Dorothy looked at him a moment and something made her realize that the man wasn't incompetent, he simply did not know what sort of people he was dealing with. The poor man just honestly didn't understand.

She supposed she could admit that she hadn't been helping him either. "Director, these men are almost exclusively former soldiers. That makes this position of yours quite different from any you've had before."

Huberts seemed to sigh and relax a little in front of her. "I'm realizing that," he confided.

Well look at her now, learning to be all sympathetic and helpful. What had she come to? Dorothy was almost annoyed with herself, especially since it seemed to be working so well.

This was all Quatre's fault too.

"Come in, Director," she stated more than invited and turned into the office. It was his after all, she probably should be a little more gracious. Once inside she cleared a spot on the front of the desk and perched herself against it. "I realize that you're unaccustomed to working with these people. But you're getting a good view of them now. Learn all you can from it."

He looked like he would protest a minute but closed his mouth again and tried to nod.

"One of the first things you must remember is that these people are not here for the paycheck. At least not really. These souls live and die by collective reasoning." Pausing she could tell that that didn't make much sense to him. It didn't matter. He'd learn it as he went along. "They will deal with their own. Skirmishes are likely, especially at first. It doesn't matter. They will all fall into their places, decide their own pecking order, form their alliances, and stick to it."

"But…" he interjected. Dorothy waited, quietly prodding him into spitting it out. "So what am I actually supposed to do?"

She couldn't help but feel a tad sorry for the man. "You are here to hand down orders of course. You're our Captain. You tell them what the higher ups tell you, and you take their needs and complaints to those same authorities. There's no sense in micro-managing these people. Unless you're directly drawn into the conflict, let them do their own infighting." With a smile she stepped forward and politely ushered him out of the office again. "You should be busy planning out the overall strategy and keeping them all marching in the same direction."

"Which means?" he stood outside, confused.

"Keep them busy," she stated evenly. "The less time they have to get into trouble, the better. And do your best to keep them out of the news. Otherwise, let them have their fun."

"That's not comforting," he stated as the door closed on him.

"I never said you had a comfortable position," she mused to the closed door. Anyone with authority who sat comfortable in his decisions wasn't doing it right. It was the difference between leaders and followers, the ability to decide and then accept the consequences. Debate was a luxury of cowards.

She hated indecisiveness.

Slipping into the chair to rest she turned it around towards the back wall and the porthole window.

If she hated it so much why did she find herself so hopelessly flipping her thoughts over and over again in head? This feeling irritated her more than anything else. The very fact that she had refused to deal with these thoughts and had just pushed them away any time she could in the past annoyed her.

How many times had she sat somewhere thinking of Quatre? Trying to define him. To defend him to herself. Trying to categorize him. Find something to just chalk him up to. Find a way to discount the oddity of him and make herself feel that she knew how to deal with him. Like she'd dealt with his type before and could do the same now.

It had never worked and that nagged at her. No matter what, there was no accounting for him. Not really. So she'd always just pushed it off. Set it aside. Just shrugged and went on.

And all the while he never left her.

Not until she watched that door close behind his back. She didn't even admit it then. She had even withheld the thought. Though she felt it as clear as day, Dorothy did not give words, not even in thoughts, to her emotions. That made them real and she did not want that fear she felt racing through her to be real.

Fear. Even now that was an understatement. A split second of terror would be more accurate as long as she was admitting things.

Disgusted with herself she stood and walked out of the office and made the trek back to her guest room. All this soul-searching, introspective sappiness was probably what was making her stomach hurt at all the weirdest times.

Either that or she was really just a lot more tired than she'd admit. She'd never slept well in less than 1G. She hated the showers, the beds were hard, the pillows were flat even when you used two, the sheets were scratchy, the air was stuffy and humid, the whole Satellite was hot due to the over-population of people roaming through it, it was never quiet….

She could really be a brat when she was uncomfortable.

So she was spoiled. So? No one knew she was griping at it all inside her own head. She had to be polite all the bloody time around 99 of the population. The few chances she had to complain to someone about something that she just didn't like was a relief in and of itself.

Was that so wrong? To find someone who she trusted enough to complain to? And not like the way she complained to Director Huberts about his filing skills. Personal preference issues. It's too hot, too cold, too muggy, it smells, it's blue, whatever! Wasn't that the point of friends? To be able to say "I just don't like it," or "wouldn't this be better?"

…What the heck was she thinking about?

Reaching her room Dorothy raised a hand to her forehead again and checked for a fever one more time. Entering her two-foot square bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror for a moment but still didn't feel she was getting sick. Just tired then. Obviously tired. Her brain hadn't rambled this much in months.

Turning to go snuggle into one of the tiny, scratchy, hard, uncomfortable cots, she absent-mindedly picked up the wrapper for the meal bar she'd had for breakfast and threw it in the trashcan. Of course it didn't stay in the trashcan and easily ricocheted back out without a normal force of gravity to hold it in.

Glaring death threats at the stupid thing she decided she didn't care and let it float on its merry way to wherever. However, sitting down on the cot she caught its motion from the corner of her eye as it bounced across the floor and finally rolled to a stop in front of her door. Something occurred to her finally as she sat absently staring at it. That bar wasn't from this morning. That was her breakfast from yesterday morning.

She hadn't eaten yet today. And she'd skipped dinner last night because the menu sounded as bad as the cafeteria usually smelled.

That was half the reason she went on colony. She was supposed to have found a nice place for lunch. No wonder she was tired and her stomach hurt.

How did she forget these things?

This was still Quatre's fault! It didn't matter if that was physically impossible!

Irritation hulled her to her feet and she stepped over to pick up the wrapper again. Her grab missed. Sullenly, she sunk down and sat on her knees, finally picking up the offensive wrapper. Since she was there, she stayed there, and slowly slumped over to lay her forehead against the cold metal of the sliding door.

Alright! Fine. "I miss him," she sulked.

* * *

Rational thought was slowly fighting its way back to the forefront. Her mind had quieted significantly since Dorothy had made it to the cafeteria. She wasn't that fond of sipping soup through a straw, but the over-enhanced chicken broth actually went nicely with her salad. And she did have to admit that it was easier to eat and keep working this way.

Not that she was working, but with a datapad in her lap and a couple folders on the table she figured she looked busy enough that no one would bother her. The place wouldn't even have their line open for the dinner menu for another half and hour so the place was spare anyway. Mostly just a few people wandering in and out, buying snacks or drinks.

Getting a gurgle from the empty cup for the second time she tossed her soup aside and picked up her apple. The chocolate cream pie had actually been her first choice, but the apple won out considering the lack of exercise she was getting just bouncing around up here.

"_No sense gaining weight over a man."_ She snorted at the stupid line. It got tossed around regularly among the petite, thin and pasty women of the circle. Oh no, Heaven forbid a teenaged girl would try to eat away her depressions.

Quatre would have told her to just eat the damned pie.

Well, not entirely accurate, but close enough. Staring at the substitute apple she leaned back in her chair and cupped it in her hand. With a twirling motion of her fingers she tried to get the thing to spin in hand. Mostly it just wobbled around and threatened to fall out.

How did he do this? Concentrating harder, she still couldn't get it to move with any certain motion. Dorothy forgot where they were when she'd noticed Quatre absentmindedly doing the same thing. She'd tried it a couple times but could never get it to work as well.

Maybe it wasn't an apple. She stopped and tried to think. It had been a very long time ago. Somewhere associated with his colony building project. She remember it had annoyed her because it showed exactly how unconcerned he was in her presence already. It always had infuriated her how easily he just let her in. More precisely, how she never managed to intimidate or fluster him. Sure she managed to get under his skin now and then, got him to blush and look uncomfortable, but it was never the same.

It was probably an orange. That's it. This would be a lot easier if this thing was round, and Quatre always chose oranges. No wonder she couldn't do this right.

He liked oranges, but not cherries. Preferred vanilla to chocolate. Had a thing for spicy food that she would certainly never understand. Didn't care for seafood, and wouldn't eat anything with its head still attached.

All the little personal preference quirks that made him who he was. That's what she'd gotten to know over these past few years. Those where the insights that you gained when you trusted someone enough to spend that kind of time with them. It's nothing she looked for, just things that she picked up by simply be interested enough to notice.

Personal preference. Likes and dislikes. And the ability to be open enough to share those.

Quatre had never seemed to have a problem with that. Although overly polite to a fault, he was still so honest about everything. She, on the other hand, had had to learn to respond to that honesty in kind.

With a light sigh to herself she set the apple back down and continued to stare at it. Perhaps… perhaps that was all it had been. Just his attempt to be honest with her about what he didn't like.

There were a good many things she figured that Master Winner didn't care for about her. She didn't blame him. But her thoughts circled again to her mind's babbling from earlier. Everyone needed someone who they could state their likes and dislikes to. Someone that wouldn't find it rude and would actually listen.

She hadn't listened.

He didn't like the way she was handling this situation, and again she didn't blame him. It wasn't his style. But when she had assumed that he was attacking her for the way she was playing this game, she had gone defensive instantly like he was simply a random acquaintance that had stepped on her toes and didn't merit a polite rebuttal.

Should she blame him for turning his back on her? Theoretically, probably not. But then again, this was about personal preference. And perhaps one of her quirks that Quatre Winner hadn't picked up on yet was that she hated being left behind, to be given up and walked away from.

It scared her more than anything else.

That was why she always tried to do it first.

* * *

Quatre padded through the house in bare feet and sleep pants. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to push away the disturbing reports he'd spent most of the day looked through.

It had become increasingly common for him to bring work home with him during the weekends instead of traipsing into the office and finding something to do. Slowly he was growing far more comfortable within the walls of Winner Manor, but he had decided not to try to determine why. He'd just be grateful and move on.

He'd been holed up in his office since that afternoon running through a fact-finding report he'd order more than a month ago. Being into the third quarter already, he was going to be facing the Board of Directors again as his safety updates were completed on the L3 Resource Stations. They would be moving into L2 next.

The issue he now faced wasn't his Directors, or even something they had brought up recently. An issue always left on the back burner was the steady red numbers coming out of L2's third Resource Station. The station in question hadn't had more than a handful of positive production numbers since it was put back into service after the end of the war. Steadily losing money wasn't something they could overlook, but the only alternative was to abandon the station completely.

There were already 4 abandoned stations floating around them. Most were used for storage and spare parts for the others, simply left locked down and unmanned. Of course, one of those stations had housed the production of Sandrock. Wistfully Quatre realized he hadn't been back to that station since he'd sent its final disposal block on a course for the sun carrying four of their gundams.

That hadn't turned out to be one of his best ideas.

Well, there was nothing there now anyway. But the pressing question was if he could do that to another one. The station in L2 was smaller than most, and also newer. Although still built most of seventy years ago, by comparison it was still young. However, some of the building constraints that it had been manufactured under restricted the types and amounts of raw material it could successfully process. It was the type of regulation chokehold that most of the other stations were grandfathered out of. _Thankfully_, he added to himself.

People that knew nothing about resource mining meant well, but there were often too many well-wishing, uninformed people in political control. No one was ever going to stop this from being a hazardous job.

Finding his way through the kitchen by the evening lighting, he poured himself a glass of milk and headed back to his office, still thoughtfully mulling over the idea of having to be the one to close the facility. It would put a lot of people out of work. Whole families would be displaced. There wasn't enough need in the other L2 stations to try to absorb those workers.

No one had taken quite a strong enough stand to have the station closed yet. Everyone seemed to be waiting to see if they could bounce back after the war. But it wasn't getting any better.

All the information was there but Quatre certainly didn't want to be the one to close it down. However, with the safety upgrades heading for L2 next, this was the time to decide if such action was worth it. There was no reason to put more money into a failed experiment.

Except that he was dealing with a lot of peoples' livelihood, and in many cases, home. Sometimes it really didn't pay to be the one to make the final decision.

A soft buzz made him pause in the hallway and then unconsciously pat his pockets. He'd left his phone in the entertainment room this morning and hadn't even noticed.

That was unusual for him these days. Normally his phone never left this side.

Finding it sitting on a side table, he mentally scolded himself and flipped it open to see what calls he'd missed. Only one showed up in the list.

_Dorothy Catalonia_. She'd called back?

Switching to his messages he stopped when there was nothing new. So she hadn't left a message. That was odd.

Going back to his calls he noted the time and realized with a cringe that it had been over two hours ago. She wouldn't possibly think he was avoiding her… would she? But she hadn't left a message, and hadn't trying calling the house line. Maybe it was just a slip. Her phone dialed itself in her pocket or something.

That didn't seem real likely.

Well, did he call her back or wait until tomorrow? He didn't honestly know what the time difference was between here and the Mars Satellite.

Staring at her name and continuing the debate he walked back upstairs and into his office. Flipping on the light, he sat down at the desk again and still didn't quite want to press the button.

Was he nervous? Actually nervous. With a snort at himself he wondered when the last time was that he sat and stared at his phone and felt nervous calling her. He supposed the better question was when had he stopped being nervous about calling her.

Quatre suddenly didn't like the idea that those feelings had come full circle. That was going in the exact opposite direction of anything he wanted. So pushing the uncomfortable feeling down, he pressed the send button and waited for it to ring. If it was a bad time he would simply apologize like normal.

Leaning back in the chair he absentmindedly picked up a pen from the desk and began twisting it around in his free hand. There was a ring and then the line connected with a loud clatter in his ear.

Startled, he dropped the pen but heard a hurried, "Hello," came over the line.

"Dorothy? Are you alright?" he questioned.

"Sorry, I dropped the phone."

"I noticed," he teased.

"That's what you get for waking me."

And his nervousness attacked with a vengeance. "I'm sorry," he gushed. "I didn't know what time it was there."

"It's alright," she stepped into the middle of his apology. "I don't know what time it is either. I didn't really mean to be asleep," she sighed.

"Oh." That was all he could think to say.

"I've decided low gravity isn't good on me."

"It isn't that good on anyone. You should really take some time and get off the Satellite. You'll start to feel sick otherwise," he advised. Some people got far more used to the effects of lower than normal gravity, but it usually took some time. Regardless, Dorothy didn't need to be subjecting herself to that.

"I've… I suppose you're right," she relented.

"Just looking out for you," he smiled to himself.

"…I can always use that."

That sounded a little off. "Dorothy?" He paused a second but there was no response. "Well, was there a reason you called earlier? I'm sorry, I didn't have my phone with me."

"Oh, yes. I called to apologize."

Quatre blinked. "Uh…?" He didn't manage to make a coherent thought out of that.

"I've had time to think about it. And as much as I hate to admit it, I got defensive. I have a whole list of excuses for why, of course, but it seems I'm sleepy. So… I'm sorry, love," she softened.

Momentarily stunned, his brain tripped over an appropriate response to that until he finally spit out, "It's alright." That still didn't seem good enough. Fumbling for something else he quickly followed up with, "I'm sorry too."

Before he could manage to say anything else a small sigh sounded in his ear. "Quatre, one thing?"

"Anything," he prodded, letting his thoughts quiet again.

"Don't leave me again… please?" It was such a meek little request that it caved in his heart. "It scares me," she admitted quietly, sounding distant.

It was such an honest sentiment. "I never meant to scare you," he whispered back to her. "I'm so sorry. I just…." It didn't matter. Like she'd said there were excuses, but it didn't matter. His girl was curled up somewhere, sleepy and groggy, and just wanted his promise. "I will never leave you."

A soft hum denoted that she'd heard him.

Had he really left her so vulnerable? His Dorothy? To actually admit that….

No matter the distance he wanted so badly to be there beside her, to curl her up in his arms and let her fall asleep. But it was all he could do to whisper, "Goodnight."

"…Night."

It took a long minute before he heard the line disconnect.

* * *

"Don't think you are going to conceal thoughts by concealing evidence that they ever existed." – Dwight D. Eisenhower

AN: Special thanks go to Guppy Roodles (even above and beyond my heartfelt thanks to everyone who's still reading this) for your PM! I've reread your list of comments and insights again and again, and it seems some of that ended up in here too. I love it all, thank you, thank you!


	60. Chapter 60

AN: Another aside to talk about my general writing. Many have asked if I would do an epilogue for "Realizations" to try to sum up their relationship now that the story has moved to the realm of the "complete." My basic answer is… I don't know. I'm still kicking around an idea or two. It probably won't come real soon regardless, but if I decide to I will let you know.

Others have asked if I would be moving on to any other GW couples after this is through. Gilligan's Ghost nicely suggested I do a Wufei and Sally piece titled "Frustrations." I laughed so much I wanted to write a bit piece just so I could name it that! But truthfully I don't think I have enough of a grasp or interest in the others to try a story in their honor. I have no intentions to start any other GW works at this time but I suppose you never know. I never meant to write a Quatre and Dorothy novel either and yet I now bring you chapter 60. As always, thank you for listening to my ramblings.

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 60

…He never meant to.

It was unreal. He didn't even know that was possible. Well possible, but not probable. At least not _admittedly_ probable. After all, this was….

He'd scared her. He didn't mean to scare her. Quatre would never intentionally do anything she'd take in such a negative way. Well when he'd left he was doing it mainly to show her…. But he didn't _really_ mean to scare her. He didn't know what he meant to do by it, but it wasn't that.

He felt awful.

He'd made this whole, overblown premise about her never being able to apologize, and now that he got one he felt about two inches tall.

He was tempted to say she'd done this on purpose!

Oh sure, blame the woman for feeling abandoned. That was a loving response. He about slapped himself.

With a miserable sigh, Quatre dropped his head onto his desk that was still scattered with the reports he'd been analyzing. For a while he just laid there and waited for the mental nagging to get tired and quit.

And slowly the guilt did bleed out, and again he was left in a stunned quiet. So… she had apologized. Nicely. Heartfelt, even. He really couldn't say that it wasn't touching.

Touching? Dorothy Catalonia had broken down and said the words _"I'm sorry, love"_ with complete honesty. That was a cosmos altering event and all he gave it was _touching_?

"…_Love." _Huh, she'd called him that again, hadn't she?

Alright, he was over-reacting. It wasn't the first time she'd apologized for something. It had just never felt like this before. He moved to cross his arms and placed them under his chin while he sat staring into space. All in all, no matter if he felt bad for causing her any worry or fear, this all worked out rather well.

He still felt a little guilty about considering this a good thing. But looking at its repercussions it was actually successful. He'd made some vague and worthless point that he couldn't exactly name, and she had obviously come to realize that she didn't want to lose him.

That was almost cause for celebration.

Almost. There was still the nagging feeling that he'd hurt her in order to get that little revelation out of her. And the fact that he certainly hadn't had a clue what he was doing when he caused all of this put a damper on congratulating himself.

No luck like dumb luck.

"_Don't leave me again… please?"_ It really wasn't a question until the "please" at the end. At first it was simply a sentimental statement. Which was unusual, but not unheard of from her. When her softer side showed through it could really destroy her typical fortified persona. Which he knew she hated. She was never comfortable slowing all of her thoughts or emotions.

It was probably one of the reasons he loved her, even if it did aggravate him. Dorothy was her own treasure map, so complex that you got so caught up in trying to solve her that you lost the goal in the search.

And she loved that. He smiled to himself at the thought. Someday he would tell her just how confused and anxious she'd made him all this time and she'd get a good laugh at his expense. He didn't even care. He'd take her laughing at him for it.

Right now, he'd really like to hear her laugh. He'd even take that high-pitched cackle, but what he really wanted was that soft little chuckle when she was teasing him. It was so cute. Most of the time he was annoyed enough with her to not notice, but she really was cute when she was being playful.

He really shouldn't ever take that side of her for granted. Although it didn't always seem particularly affectionate, it was. She only teased those she liked and she only took it to extremes with those she trusted.

It was just like reading between the lines to understand her compliments, or insults, or congratulations, or apologies. The little wordsmith just couldn't spit anything out in plan language. That was too easy on her audience. He'd always known that getting a short, honest response from her meant something was wrong. It just wasn't her normal way of handling herself.

Her confession still left him a bit concerned though. Was she alright?

* * *

Dorothy lay in her bed on the Mars Satellite, blissfully asleep with her phone still curled under the covers with her.

* * *

L5 167977 seemed to be a rather highly populated colony. As with many of the older colonies in the L5 cluster, an oriental cultural heritage prevailed in the community. The farther she'd moved away from the spaceport, the easier it was notice. Although the Colonies had always been a melting pot of people and cultures, there still seemed to be a charm associated with the founding pioneers that had settled outer space.

Dorothy had slipped off the Satellite again fairly early. Avoiding anything associated with the spaceport this time, she'd found a local listing of churches and made it just in time for Sunday Mass at one. From there she had then discovered a perfect little spot for breakfast right across the street.

So now she lingered over her cappuccino at the little Italian-style bakery which seemed a tad out of place between two Chinese restaurants which weren't open for business yet. She seemed to be in a fairly residential area but people still walked by the windows of the shop without pause.

It was a nice feeling. Although use to suburban, and now rural, life she didn't mind mingling into a crowd. It was a wonderful distraction and waste of time.

Glancing around the little shop she noticed all the tables were full and decided that she should give up her seat. Buying herself another cup to go, she stepped into the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside and simply followed along for while with no destination in mind.

Sticking to what seemed to be the main roads and loitering among large packs of pedestrians she figured she couldn't get too lost. Pausing at one of the neighborhood parks, she mentally shrugged and turned in. The narrow walking trail led a meandering path through a small, but immaculately kept garden. There was really no place to sit aside from a few decorative benches that looked anything but comfortable. The place had been designed to be walking tour, not a lounge.

Finding herself back at the gate she paused and decided on one more lap. Slowing her pace this time, she managed to catch some of the hidden detail in the vegetation and perfectly placed statues and rocks.

Happily finding her way back out again, she stood at the gate and scanned her surroundings for a minute, looking for a public transit sign. What she noticed instead were the bustling people. Traditional Chinese garb was prevalent among the entire assortment, seemingly despite any obvious ethnic backgrounds.

Of course, this was its own ethnic background. This colony was its own country. L5 was its own continent, of sorts. Culture here had little regard for race.

"_Every person that comes here brings something different. That's the way of colony life, you focus on the inside."_

It seemed she was been overly nostalgic about some of her first meetings with Mr. Winner after the war. So very long ago…. My, how she'd changed.

Looking up she studied the curvature of the colony ceiling for a moment and then returned to her search for a transit sign. Yes, she had changed. The stale, stagnate environment that she'd always associated with Colony life had been corrected for her. With a glance back at the garden she smiled to herself and headed out for a larger intersection a few blocks away. Perhaps she had finally spent enough time here to learn to look for the details.

"…_you focus on the inside."_

Or perhaps she'd managed to learn to focus on her own inside.

* * *

"Three more."

"Will that finish your crew?"

"For now."

Alstead stood towering over her desk as Dorothy ran a curious eye down the applications in front of her. She had no reason to second-guess Foreman Alstead's decisions, but she was a tad bored and hadn't talked to anyone else all day, so she was stalling.

Flipping to the last one she stopped and blinked at it oddly. "'Deal?'" she read. "That's what he gave for a name?"

"I gather that's all he's got."

She raised an eyebrow and looked up at her Foreman with a smirk. A true underground solider then. Nameless, as it were. It had been some time since she'd met someone like that. "Well, that won't go through on the payroll forms, will it?"

Alstead nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's why I gave it to you before Huberts."

Smart man. "Let me talk to the right people," she paraphrased. "Meanwhile, bring him by. I'd like to meet Mr. Deal."

Again he nodded.

"Any other fun little items I should know about?" she batted her eyes at him.

"No."

Hum. "Any other fun little items I shouldn't know about?" she insinuated heavily.

Marcolm Alstead actually broke a smirk. "No."

"Drat," she sighed. "I was hoping you'd brighten my day."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm sure you are," she nodded sullenly and turned back to the applications in hand. "Well, this is something. And I have to say it will be nice to finish off the roster for one section. You've done remarkably well, Foreman Alstead."

"Thanks," he muttered.

The man wasn't used to praise. She'd probably just tripped every mental alarm he had. Now he would stand and wait for the "but" to come and his knees to be cut out from under him.

So she just tucked the applications away with the others and went back to the mess she had in front of her. After an uncomfortable silence she looked up at him again and tilted her head to the side. "Something else?"

He blinked. "No, Lady."

"Alright then. Dismissed," she stated offhandedly and went back to work.

The man stiffly turned and left the room, the door sliding shut behind him. And Dorothy giggled to herself. So maybe she was having just a bit of fun with these souls. She couldn't help it. After all, she supposed she did have the secondary mission of attempting to help these people meld into normal civilian life.

Sitting back in her chair, she pulled out Deal's application again and looked at it a moment. His picture looked back at her from the corner of the page. Youthful, light brown hair, brown eyes, a bit of a smile. Somehow he came across as an optimistic soul in this little headshot.

Well, she supposed he was. Anyone not so optimistic would have faked a name and ID number and hoped no one ever caught on. On the line for birth date he had only stated his age as 28. And as with many applications that she'd seen, "permanent address" was completely blank.

Interesting little twist. Let's see. How to handle this…?

There were, of course, back door ways of getting someone an ID number so that they could nicely pay their taxes. And she, of course, knew the ways to get that done. However, it was a slightly more delicate task of how to deal with the person himself and arrange such things.

Well, he wanted to work here, so hopefully he would be agreeable about having an identity drawn out of a hat and handed to him.

She did keep running into interesting people.

* * *

Alstead once again rapped on the door, probably startling the woman behind it. A call to come in answered him and he stepped aside to let the younger man enter first.

As the doors opened and two stepped inside, the young man glanced around the small, narrow office before he stepped forward to extend a hand to the woman at the desk. "You're who they call Lady, right?"

"I am," she offered her hand as well and he engulfed hers with a strong shake. "And you are who they call Deal?"

"Yea, Ma'am," he nodded. "Been called that as long as I can remember."

"No memory of your real name?" she asked, sitting back in her chair.

"No, Ma'am," he answered a bit more quietly.

"Your employment history is a bit scattered as well," Dorothy noted as she scanned the last page of his application.

Raising a hand, Deal rubbed at the back of his neck and gave an almost nervous chuckle. "Yeah, well, never stuck to one place too long. Always seemed like something kept throwing me out the door. I spent every living day 'till the time I was 14 on a freight hauler under Captain Moses. That wasn't his real name either," he explained. "Good man, looked after us. Had a heart attack at the controls one night and ran the boat into a scrap yard dock. Police figured it all out later, but most of the crew was long gone."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt. Alstead stood at the back of the room and watched the Lady's amused interest in the story. If any of this bothered the well-bred heiress, she certainly didn't show it.

"I hitched from there, bounced around the small freighters that pay under the table, finally washed up in L1 one night, and when I got back to dock my ship was gone. Best bet is the Captain found out I'd taken a liking to is daughter, and that she wasn't fighting me off none," he admitted with an embarrassed note to his voice. "Not implying anything," he immediately threw in when she lightly chuckled at his wording. "She was pretty, but mean. I get that type a lot," he snickered at himself and then moved to lean a hip against the desk.

"We'll get along well then," Dorothy teased.

"Oh, no ma'am. The Foreman here said if anyone could help me, it'd be you. That makes you real nice in my book," he smiled at her.

"I believe I can be of assistance," she nodded. "You ended up with the Alliance after these random years in freighters?"

"Yeah. I fell in with a group in L1 to begin with. Not a decent mechanic among them. I'm pretty good at being able to jump right into something I've never seen before and still be able to put it back together. Even there I got moved around a lot. I went from base to ship to base. I couldn't tell you where for sure. They just liked to ship me around fixing this and that. It wasn't the best though, by the time they stopped moving me around and the end was in sight, I just hoped they never needed every man in one of those flying suits. Not enough hull around those things for my liking," he nodded to himself. "I slipped away afterwards, got odd jobs around L3 until I heard Queen Relena asking for help. And I came running. If she'll have me, I'll be here for her."

"You don't mind the thought of settling down?" Dorothy raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, ma'am. Not at all," he smiled. "Be happy for it."

"Well then," she nodded and flipped his application back to the front section. "I can't process you through here under just Deal, so we're going to have to give you a little more information."

"Anything you need," he nodded to her and stood up straight in front of the desk again.

"You need a name, and we'll get you an ID number," she mused looking up at him curiously. "What's a fitting name?"

Alstead waited, watching the younger man's hands fidget on the side seams of his pants. "Neal," he suggested. No sense changing it to anything too far off from what the kid knew.

"I like it," Dorothy nodded. "Neal Goodman," she pronounced with a little smile. "How does it fit?"

"Fits real well, ma'am," he quietly nodded. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, Neal. We're happy to have you aboard. I'm sure you are exactly what Miss Relena wants working on her project." Marking over his application she wrote in his name for him and then added today's date for the birthday information, still making him twenty-eight. "There now, I just need your signature at the end, Mr. Goodman," she flipped the page around and handed him the pen.

The man took it from her slowly and seemed to practice out the movement of the new name before he carefully bent over and signed it across the bottom. "Wow. Never thought I'd see that," he mumbled.

"Get used it," Dorothy smiled. "As soon as I get a number for you, you'll be signing all of these employment forms," she waved towards the two stacks under Director Huberts' name at the corner of the desk.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded vigorously and grabbed her hand in both of his as she reached for the pen again. "Thank you, ma'am!"

"Good luck to you, Neal," she emphasized his name. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you!"

If she'd been standing Alstead was sure the young man would have hugged her.

* * *

Quatre was avoiding unpleasant thoughts today. He'd decided that already. Whether that was working or not he refused to comment.

Instead, he had pulled out a somewhat forgotten project and was actually amusing himself with it. Ten sheets of scribbled on, almost unintelligible, staff paper looked back at him from the top of the piano. If he rewrote this it would probably only be three or four pages, but he didn't have the nerve to "finalize" it like that yet.

Well, he was getting there. He'd actually forgotten how much he had. There were a few spots that he felt were far too disjointed yet, but otherwise there was a nice eddying flow to it.

He found that appropriate for the subject of this little musical love-letter.

Appropriate. That had indeed been the hard part. How do you condense anything down far enough to place the Lady Catalonia into terms that could be represented by "appropriate?" The woman was so unreasonably complicated. If anyone else heard this he doubted they would find it consistent enough to be dedicated to only one person.

Well, he didn't honestly care what anyone else thought.

Raising his violin again, he eyed the pages and picked out a particularly choppy spot and tried it again, looking for a way to improve it.

It struck a sour note against the ring of his phone in his pocket. Lowering the instrument he carefully set it aside before pulling the phone out with a smile. "Hello?"

"You have a birthday coming up."

"Do I?" he mumbled and then tried to remember today's date. "I suppose I do."

"Three weeks to the day. Where am I taking you?"

"Why Lady Catalonia, will you leave that Satellite long enough to have dinner with me?" he smirked. There was no hint of the emotional apology from last night and it somehow eased his mind to hear that.

"I intend to be off this Satellite far longer than one dinner. A few loose ends and the maintenance and the first wave of the loading crews will be completely named, and if I have my way I'll have the first ship's crew finalized and congratulated by tomorrow night."

"Sounds like progress."

"Yes. All the camaraderie is sort of touching. It's making me nostalgic."

Chuckling, he nodded to himself, remembering just how "happy" everyone seemed to be together when Dorothy had made her little ploy on the Foreman candidates. "Well, I'm sure they all appreciate your unique view of them," he teased.

"They should."

She always idolized the soldiers, and those willing to fight for something. He did wonder now and then how much of her affections he'd gained for no more merit than to have once been a Gundam pilot. It really wasn't what he wanted her to respect him for, but there wasn't anything he could do about it either.

"Anyway, I've made my excuse for why I need to leave here so you just need to decide where I'm taking you."

Leaning on the piano he smiled at her, "So basically you're just using me as a conveniently timed excuse for why you have to leave all of those people to fend for themselves."

"…I find people work better when they understand the time constraints."

"And you really needed to be able to say 'I have a previous engagement on…' to do that?" he teased.

"Well it sounds so much better than 'It's been fun, but I'm tired of this stinking satellite.'"

"I suppose it does."

"Besides, I haven't done enough research into finding a way to fill your house with random flowers to be able to rightly pay you back as far as birthdays go."

Rolling his eyes he decided there was no reason he should be fighting this. "Flowers are a little feminine of a gift, aren't they?"

"I'll buy you pink ones," she teased.

"Dorothy!" Her cackle echoed over the line and Quatre hung his head and laughed at it. Well, he supposed he'd gotten what he asked for. "Alright, alright, I'll make reservations somewhere."

"Somewhere nice. I want to spoil you."

"Spoil me? You mean aside from the fact that I'm choosing the location and making the reservations myself?" he chuckled.

"Well a girl can't do everything."

"Of course, of course," he gave up. "I'll see what I can do."

"Perfect. What are your plans for the following week?"

With a sigh he tried to think through his schedule. "Probably a lot of catch up. I have a meeting with my Board the Monday before, and I can see that stretching into most of a weeklong debate."

"What did they do this time?"

"Nothing. It's what I'm thinking of doing." So much for not thinking of unpleasant subjects today.

"So what are you thinking of doing?"

Pausing he ran a hand through his hair and tried not to cringe as he said the words out loud. "I'm thinking of abandoning one of the stations."

There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. He didn't suppose anyone would expect him to be the first to really lay that suggestion out for discussion. His Board would probably stare at him for a moment too.

"Which one?"

"L2's number 3. The smaller one."

"And you're the one bringing this up?" she clarified.

"Yes. I know. And no, I don't want to have to do it." Again the guilt nagged at him. He would certainly never wish to have to do this.

"Hum…. You're going to need a vacation too."

That was it? That was her great pep talk? "Could I speak my investor part of you for a minute?"

"No, she's on a nice beach somewhere."

"So she doesn't sunburn?" he teased.

"…With an umbrella," she added. "And a stiff drink."

"That wouldn't be good for her."

"The point isn't for it to be good for her," she tossed back.

"Now Dorothy," he chided.

"What do you care, you don't like her anyway."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Well, she hasn't been particularly nice to me."

"You only got yelled at once."

"Once was enough."

"Fine," she ended it. "Take some time off the week after."

Quatre had to flip subjects again but thought about it. "If I plan ahead I might be able to take a day or two. Why?"

"You're not supposed to ask questions around your birthday. You'll ruin the surprise."

"Really?" He didn't realize there were so many rules associated with this. "And why do I get very nervous when you start saying things like 'don't ask' and 'surprise?'"

"Then I guess you should be nervous. So two days? Alright."

Had he somehow made that sound official to her?

"Let's bump this up. Make your reservations for the Friday evening before and pack for a long weekend."

Pack? "Um… I'll try. What exactly are you—"

"What did I just tell you?" she interrupted. "I'll meet you at the office and when you're through we'll head out."

Did he have a choice? "Alright."

"Good," she purred. "We'll travel Saturday and I'll have you back Wednesday."

With a sigh he simply gave up. "Sounds great."

"Of course. Have I ever led you astray?"

"Alright, now I'm scared," he teased.

It was wonderful to hear her laugh.

* * *

"You won't be here for the first run?"

Dorothy sat at the table nursing her chocolate cream pie while Alstead finished his meal. She had considered this to be a victory slice, but much like everything else in the cafeteria line it was failing to impress her. "No," she answered.

"What if something goes wrong?" Huberts looked up from his ever-present paperwork. His plate had been pushed away only half eaten, but Dorothy assumed the man was getting fed well at home. The upheaval of his job hadn't changed his figure any yet.

"Then you'll deal with it," she simply stated.

The two men at her table exchanged a glance.

"There won't be a problem," their fourth interjected. Cassa Nustrous had been appointed to her new position as Captain of the first IRIS owned freighter. Dorothy had handed out the commissions for the first crew herself less than 2 days ago. The ship-based loading personnel would be finalized with the crew's help to avoid any major personality clashes.

Dorothy was certain if someone stepped out of line, this woman would flush them out an airlock and pick them up again on her way back if their air lasted that long. It was nice to see such qualified placements.

"We don't have the luxury of anything going wrong," she reminded them. "The entire media world is waiting for a spectacular failure and I don't care for their lack of faith."

"But," Huberts paused and threw a look at the other two, "I'm no expert on ships, but that thing… isn't in the best shape. Even with all the obvious effort put into it," he backpedaled with a look at Alstead.

That was an understatement, but the ship's Captain and caretaker both shot him looks for it. "It isn't in good shape," Dorothy agreed. "And it won't be in good shape when we get rid of it either. It's temporary until we get the custom ships that are on order. However, if this project doesn't start doing its job as quickly as possible someone's going to get the bright idea that it's not needed."

The group around her nodded.

Dorothy went back to her pie and began scrapping it off the cardboard someone considered crust. "Our job might be nothing more than to make it to Mars and back, but right now we have no option but to look good doing it. Foreman Alstead is already convinced that we're ahead of schedule and I'm going to hold him to that," she pointedly looked over at the man who nodded. "And Captain Nustrous believes she can have the loading crew finalized by next week," the woman to her right also nodded. "That pushes us up a week ahead of the original schedule and we're going to stick to that."

None of the three seemed concerned about that and she had every faith in them. It would be tight, but that scrap-heap of a freighter would fly early. Whether it made it there and back was out of her hands.

"But… you're not going to be here?" Huberts reiterated.

Taking another bite of her pie filling, she shook her head, "I have an important engagement."

"What do we do with the reporters? The whole Satellite will be full of them."

Now her little Director was starting to think protectively. She granted the man a small smile for the accomplishment and pushed her plate away. "Keep them out of any sensitive areas. The docking bay, the control room, the operations floor, all of it. Throw every Employees Only sign up that we have and toss a couple people on guard duty if you have to."

"And when they ask questions?" he blinked at her.

Settling back in her seat she batted her eyes at him, "No matter what, you're just pleased as pie with it all."

Huberts gave a dejected little sigh and went back to his paperwork.

"Don't worry too much," she brushed it off. "When that first ship lands I doubt you'll be alone."

No, if she knew Miss Relena by now the woman would be on standby to be here at a moment's notice if anything went wrong. And if everything went right, she would still be the one flashing all the happy smiles to the cameras. The media wouldn't be nearly so interested in that case and would disburse quickly.

It probably wasn't a good idea for her not to be here, but if there was ever a time when this group needed to band together it was when that ship touched down again. Her specialty was crowd control, and aside from the media, these three could handle that. If Miss Relena was here there was no point in worrying about the media either.

She'd be here to wave goodbye and wish them well, but she would leave the vigil to their comrades. She'd given them a good start. It was time to see if her toddler would take off and run.

Besides, there were pleasant items to attend to.

* * *

Dorothy sat at the end of the table, sipping her coffee through a straw and trying not to look like she was eyeing the cheese danish on the pastry platter a couple people down.

She had no purpose in being here. It was mostly just moral support for Director Huberts, who had shakily requested she attend. Why she had said yes, she still wasn't sure, but she supposed she'd been entirely too nice to the man already to let him face the wolves alone now.

Why had she started that? Now she was stuck and this was just a waste of time.

Although a cheese danish would really make up for it.

As it were, the heads of the satellite had gathered to report on the individual workings of the project. All of this she knew second-hand. It wasn't that large a facility. Huberts had given his report, and very few had even bothered to question him. No one else had much experience with the working crews, these men and women were always holed up in the upper levels watching dials and read outs as far as she could tell.

A little message popped up on the laptop in front of her. She had only brought it so she could blend in with the rest of the crowd, but perhaps this would make for a nice little distraction until they served the refreshments. What did Quatre have to say this morning?

Slipping a hand over to the keyboard, she made sure no one else could see her screen and opened the message as the last person sat down and the table began informal discussion. Taking a sip of her coffee, she turned back to the screen in time to watch a picture pop up in the message.

And she choked.

Covering her mouth, she tried valiantly to keep from spraying the rest of her coffee all over the bald man in the corner seat next to her. Conversation stopped as the man in question tried to hand her a napkin. Taking it she coughed until she could manage to get her air back. "Pardon," she rasped out and tried to wave everyone else back to their conversation.

Standing, she closed her laptop and excused herself out of the conference room and down the hall to the ladies room. By the time she could breath without tasting coffee, she dabbed at her eyes and waited for the red to bleed out of her face.

Reentering the conference room, she sat down in her seat, flashing a polite smile to anyone who gave her a concerned glance.

And then she noticed that her cheese danish, and most of the rest of the plate, was gone.

* * *

"It's not funny," she pouted.

It was hilarious. Quatre couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this hard.

"Well at least I can still amuse you," she grumbled.

"Sorry," he tried to stifle his chuckles. "How was I suppose to know you were going to have such an adverse reaction to Duo and Hilde's wedding picture?"

"A note in the subject saying 'no, no, don't look' might have been helpful."

"I didn't think it was that much of a shock," Quatre shrugged to himself.

"Are you even sure this is legitimate?"

"It's not the Fez's Love Connection," he rolled his eyes. "Hilde sent it herself. Although I'm not sure how well I believe it was 'completely spontaneous' and they just happened to be right across the street from a chapel when he talked her into it. Duo's the only person I know who tends to have a motive for all of his spontaneous actions."

"I'd rather know if she was drugged."

"Dorothy," he chided. She and Duo had just enough in common to work fairly well together if need be, but whatever had started this feud between them would not give up. He supposed he should be use to it by now.

"It was still no excuse to choke me to death."

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I'll buy you a doughnut to make up for it."

"It was a danish," she retorted. "Cream cheese. Although for the pain and suffering I think I deserve blueberry too."

Snickering at her, Quatre actually scribbled down the order and decided that he might just find her some. "Of course. Are you sure that you'll recover?"

"I think I'll manage," she sighed loudly for effect.

And he laughed at her again. "I'll try to be more sensitive about your allergy to marriage."

"Yeah, well, until they invent a pill for it, I'm going to feel very sorry for Miss Hilde."

"I think it's wonderful," Quatre defended. It was a nice feeling. Romance was a good indicator of optimism. Relationships were forged in every type of environment. Some of the strongest were melded together under the worst of conditions. But love really only flourished when people had the time for it, and he was very happy to see his friends believed that as well.

"Sap," she muttered.

"Thank you. So, Friday?"

"I'll be there."

"You'd better be. I had to use my full name to get reservations at this place," he snickered.

"Well I can't miss that. Ciao darling."

"Goodbye," he hung up with a laugh. He was very tempted to call Duo up and tell on her reaction, but that would have to wait. Not to mention Dorothy may not like him much for it.

"Mail call," Mrs. Shanelle interrupted as he tucked his phone back in his pocket. Granting her his attention she leafed through a couple envelopes in front of him. "Nothing important," she deemed and handed them to him anyway.

He honestly didn't know why she didn't just open his mail like she did with the rest. She was always right. With a glance through the promotions and junk mail he reaffirmed that and tossed them neatly into his wastebasket. "Mrs. Shanelle, you don't know a good pastry shop, do you?"

"Malto's, a couple blocks down on Central," she nodded and then stood up straight for inspection. "They've been keeping twenty pounds on me for ten consecutive years," she smiled brightly.

Quatre laughed at the insinuation but shook his head. "They're a very nice twenty pounds," he tried.

"Flatterer," she waved it off. "But you seem to be in an awfully good mood for someone on his way to a board meeting," she commented, holding out a folder full of copies for him.

And his cheery smile slipped a few notches. "Well, I was," he mumbled and collected a few other items from his desk, along with her folder.

With a bit of a guilty smile, Mrs. Shanelle asked, "Should I call Malto's?"

With a chuckle Quatre gave her a pat on the shoulder and left for the meeting room. "I don't think doughnuts are going to help me now."

* * *

"So, when you said meet me for brunch, what week were you actually thinking of?"

"…Oops."

Davonte sighed in annoyance at her. "Have I become so forgettable to you?"

"Von, you're taking this too hard. I simply forgot to cancel. Something came up."

"Something more important than the mere thought of me obviously," he grumbled.

"I'm sure you'll live."

"It's the quality of life issue that I don't care much for."

"Surely someone like you could find another brunch date," she insinuated.

"Of course. But it's the idea of being stood up. I don't appreciate that."

"Well at least you were _accidentally_ stood up this time."

Insolent child. "Are you implying that this happens often?"

"Just making an observation."

"I'm sure you weren't," he groused. "Despite that, I'm offering you a way to redeem yourself."

"Do tell?" she finally sounded curious.

"I have received a very nice invitation from the widow Casadona to a rose tea." He paused, reading through the printed card again. "What the devil is a rose tea?"

"It's a formal tea, probably served in the garden with the roses," Dorothy supplied. "It's a garden party."

"Why can't you bloody uppity-ups just say that?"

"We like to confuse the lesser people," she snickered. "But she invited you? Alone?"

"Why do you have such a dreadful connotation when you say that? It says I can bring a guest," he mused, reading the card again. "What's wrong with inviting me?"

"Nothing, dearest. I'm just rather curious why the nice _elderly_ lady is so interested in you all of a sudden."

"It's not sudden," he snipped. "She has been a great admirer of my work for some time. She's commissioned several, you know."

"Maybe she wants you to paint a garden party scene."

"Ah," he sighed. "How dreadfully boring. But for Ms. Casadona I would assuredly do my best."

"…Von, do I need to be concerned about your taste in women?"

With a smirk, he fanned himself with the card, "Not quite yet."

"She could be your grandmother."

"My grandmother was poor."

"That's no excuse."

"I could make the remainder of her life very enjoyable."

"…Ew."

"You perverted little brat," he chided her. "For that I'm not taking you."

"Oh, was this going to be an invitation as 'guest?'"

"Why else would I be calling you? It certainly isn't for your blind view of romance."

"I am not blind."

"Tell that to Mr. Winner," he snickered. Poor sap.

"Why must you always drag him into this?"

"The man's haplessly infatuated. He should have his own sonnet. The ballad of Sir knight and the evil Temptress."

"You have such a low opinion of me," she sighed mournfully.

"No, just your ability to show affection," he reasoned. "Now then, what are you doing next Sunday?"

"Next Sunday? Well, it seems you will go to rose tea as an available bachelor for the widow after all."

"Oh? Too busy for me again?" Davonte pouted.

"I have an appointment with a dear knight that I don't show enough affection to."

He sat dejectedly and tapped the card against the café table in front of him. "I see where I rank."

"Yes," she chirped. "Do say hello for me."

"You as well."

* * *

Mrs. Shanelle had been nice enough to try a pick-me-up. The week had started off with the Directors all but falling out of their chairs at the idea of closing a trailing resource station, and had branched into an all out debate about the current state of the mining division. Quatre's cheerfulness had bled out rather quickly until his dear assistant walked in Friday morning flourishing around a large box of doughnuts and pastries, which had somehow landed on his desk again.

Either his receptionists were worried that he wasn't eating, or his Directors were trying to fatten him up before the sacrifice.

Hunched wearily over his desk, he eyed the clock in the far bookcase and noted it was almost over. Just another half an hour or so. Dorothy was on her way, and that thought had probably kept him going this week. Right now he was only hoping to be able to stay awake during dinner.

"You have a visitor," Mrs. Shanelle popped into his office again.

"Already?" he perked up instantly.

"Not that visitor," she snickered at him.

Wilting again, he eyed the door in case another of his Directors tried a one-on-one debate with him just to cap off a lousy week.

Removing the box from his desk, his assistant straightened the stacks of binders underneath. "It is Miss Jesimae Nickels. The front desk called, should I send her up?"

Quatre sat back in his chair and blankly watched her tidy up his desk while she absently waited for an answer. Repeating the name to himself his memory finally kicked over, and he swallowed despite himself.

It had been months since he'd spoken to the Resource Supervisor of Nickels Refinery. The brazen, strawberry blond who had all but thrown herself at him for a date while he was merely trying to spy on their operations for Lady Une still caused him to cringe. He had of course apologized for basically running out on their "date" once he'd figured out that his blind partner in the spy mission had been Dorothy herself. That was probably the last time he'd spoken to her though.

Their contract with Nickels Refinery was going well. Nothing of any interest had come up lately. What was she here for?

"Mr. Winner?" Mrs. Shanelle waved a hand in front of him.

"Sorry," he blinked back the thoughts. "Um, sure, send her up."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded and headed out of his office. "And if Lady Catalonia shows up I'll find a way to help you kick her out."

That woman knew him too well. "Thank you," he called after her with a chuckle.

Nothing to worry about. It was probably just a little polite follow up. She may have been on colony for something else and wanted to drop by. After this long he was sure she'd gotten the idea that he wasn't particularly interested in anything personal.

He did still feel bad about leaving her at the restaurant, but she had been the same bubbly person when he'd called a couple days later, still feigning an illness. Well, it would be nice to touch base with their company again.

Besides, if she asked him out to dinner again Dorothy would get a good laugh out of it.

Setting aside a week's worth of work and worry, he finalized one more email and closed down his programs before she appeared in the doorway.

"Hello, Quatre," she greeted warmly, the same inhumanly wide smile and red lipstick in place.

"Miss Jesimae," he nodded and stood to greet her.

"Please, it hasn't been that long," she happily chided him for the prefix.

"No, of course," he agreed. She offered her hand and he politely pecked a kiss on it and assured her around to the chairs. "So what brings you here?"

"Nothing of any consequence," she giggled, tossing her blond ringlets behind her shoulder again as she sat down. "I just happened to be here anyway and wanted to look you up."

With an easy smile, Quatre leaned back against the front of his desk. She was as pleasant as always and that eased away any of the nervousness from their last encounter. "Well, you're always welcome. How is your father doing?"

"Quite well. We have a new plant in the works in the outskirts of L1 and he's spending a lot of time there."

"You're doing a lot of expanding lately. That's good to see."

"There are a lot of building projects going on now. It's a rather lucrative time," she nodded happily. With a glance towards the door, she crossed her legs and tucked her skirt around her a little in the chair. "I hope I'm not keeping you. I noticed a couple of your receptionists were headed out already when I came up."

"Not at all," he waved it off. "I'm actually waiting for someone anyway. I have an engagement this evening." Might as well get that out in the open and save her an embarrassment if he had to turn her down for dinner again.

"Oh, I see," she nodded to herself. "I suppose then I can't use my rain-check for another date."

Uh-oh.

"It has been a while. I wonder if you've thought about me?" she questioned, raising her eyes to look at him expectantly.

_Well, no_, he mentally answered her. "Well, I've had some issues that…." What kind of excuse was that? "It's just…."

Her giggle cut off his attempts to phrase something coherently. Leaning forward in the chair, she smiled up at him. "You're really cute when you're nervous," she whispered.

Why did everyone think that? "Thanks," he muttered, looking away to try to salvage some form of dignity.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I'm always a little too direct. It's a flaw of mine," she shrugged it off and stood up.

"No, it's… uh…" he faltered to a stop when she stepped in closer to him. Leaning on his desk was a terrible oversight. He had no way to maneuver. Instead he straightened, hoping for a chance to politely slip away and retreat to a respectable distance.

"You're a bit of the shy type, aren't you?" she teased, her eyes sparkling at him.

"I suppose I am," he tried to give her a smile.

"I was sort of hoping that opposites attract."

In a different situation he would probably agree with that. "I suppose that depends," he mumbled for something to say.

Slipping in closer again, she brushed against him, her hand touching one of his. Involuntarily he tightened his grip on the front of his desk, trying to keep from yanking away from her. "I really would be a little more subtle, but it seems I never get the chance to take things slow."

She lowered her eyes and seemed to be sincerely trying to come up with something else to say. And Quatre realized he couldn't get a single word to come out. His jaw worked a couple times but no sounds went with it. He had to salvage this. Somehow. Anyhow!

"You're always so busy. I understand that. I'm not trying to be pushy," she quietly reasoned. "I just," she raised her eyes to him again, "want a chance?"

It was far too much of a question. One that begged an answer.

And he froze. She was so sincere. So hopeful. That was all that kept running through his head. How did he…? "I…."

Again it was her giggle that interrupted his attempt to say no. "I'm not doing you any favors," she whispered, her eyes holding a very amused twinkle in them even as she mildly apologized.

He was an idiot. _Say something!_ he demanded of himself.

"Forgive me?" she purred, the sultry edge apparent as she leaned into him farther.

The touch finally jarred him out his stupor. "Miss Jesimae—"

"Stop calling me 'Miss,'" she very quietly demanded. Without a chance for anything else she stretched up and pressed her lips to his.

Quatre snapped his eyes wide open at the contact and jerked his head away. On instinct his hands grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back a few precious inches.

Startled, the woman gasped and stared up at him wide-eyed. Calming down at the sight of the frightened expression, he carefully loosened his grip on her but didn't remove his hands. "Jesimae," he started, skipping the Miss as requested.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked.

"No," he shook it off forcefully, closing his eyes to collect himself. "It's not you. And I'm really very flattered." Actually he wasn't sure if he was or not, but it sounded good. "It's just…." Pausing, he looked at her again and tried to give her confused expression a bit of a smile. "There's already someone else in my life right now," he quietly told her, believing that for once he owed this woman the truth.

"Oh," she whispered, losing all of the sparkle that her eyes had held a moment ago. "I didn't realize." Looking down, she composed herself. "That's—that's really what I get," she chuckled nervously.

"I'm sorry," he apologized just for something to say.

"No, it's my fault," Jesimae looked up at him again, a smile coming back, although he wasn't sure how sincere it was. "I just sort of took you for oblivious and decided maybe if I made a first move…. Well, I tried my luck," she shrugged and he finally remembered to carefully remove his hands from her shoulders.

Licking his lips, Quatre tasted the waxy residue of her lipstick and tried forcefully to ignore it. "I, uh, do usually admit to being oblivious," he tried, giving her a smile.

It did successfully get her to giggle at him before nodding happily once more. "You really are very sweet. I hope I didn't offend you."

"No," he shook it off quickly. "Not at all. I'm sorry I just didn't say something earlier." Not that he was sure he would have gotten the words in edgewise, but he felt like an idiot. He couldn't possibly have handled this any worse.

"I did a good job of putting you on the spot," she teased and turned to pick up her purse from the chair. "Perhaps some time when you don't have another engagement I can still repay you a dinner. In a much more friendly manner," she flashed him a wide smile again.

With an honest chuckle he nodded and leaned back on his desk again for support. "I wouldn't mind that at all," he assured her.

"Good. Then I'll go before I cause any more trouble," she laughed at herself, still obviously a little embarrassed.

What was he possibly supposed to say to something like this? "…Thank you," he muttered, "for understanding."

"Of course. I do wish her well," Jesimae actually winked at him.

Oh. Maybe that wasn't such a good time to actually tell her the truth. Swallowing tightly he nodded but hesitantly glanced towards the empty doorway. "It's nothing official," he tried.

"I certainly won't say anything," she solemnly held up a hand and giggled.

"Thank you," he all but sighed. He probably shouldn't be worried. He was sure the businesswoman understood the effects of random rumors. And she did honestly seem sincere underneath the overly outgoing facade. "I appreciate it."

"I get it," she teased. Again tossing her hair over her shoulder, she flashed him a smile. Her eyes still sparkled with her seemingly endless enthusiasm, and it eased some of the tension out of his back and shoulders. "Good evening, Quatre."

She turned for the door and he granted her departing form a smile. "Please have a safe trip, Jesimae."

"Thank you," she chirped as she turned the corner into the hallway with one last look back at him.

Well… that hadn't gone as badly as it could have. Underneath the perpetual smile of hers he really did hope that she didn't begrudge him for the rejection. She was actually kind of sweet.

In a different situation…. He really couldn't even think about that.

Sucking down a deep breath, he waited a long moment before he unlocked his hands from the edge of his desk and pushed himself up straight. Slowly walking around his desk he sat down and settled back in the chair, for some reason his movements coming silent and deliberate. He didn't need any other jarring interruptions right now.

"Mr. Winner." He involuntarily cringed before he turned to see Mrs. Shanelle's head peeking around the doorway. "I'm leaving. I'll leave the door open for you."

"Thank you," he waved her on. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too," she called back from down the hall already. "Please say hello to Dorothy for me."

Dorothy…. That really could have been…. If she'd shown up any earlier….

Did he tell her?

* * *

Dorothy slammed the taxi's door shut and tried to make it look like she wasn't scurrying for the doors. Bouncing up the steps, she nearly lost a shoe when she saw a security guard approach the doors from inside.

_Don't lock me out. Don't lock me out. I don't have my phone! _she mentally pleaded with the man behind the glass as she quickened her pace beyond any stately looking hurry. Jogging up the last steps she crossed the landing, only to watch the man politely open the door for someone else.

They'd already locked the doors then. Great.

The man smiled easily as he held the door for a woman to leave and then turned to regard her with the same polite smile. Maybe he recognized her. Wonderful, she wouldn't have to explain why she was trying to get in after hours.

With a nod he only held the door for her and let her pass as well. Mumbling a thank you, she finally paused and turned back over her shoulder towards the woman she'd crossed paths with.

The strawberry blond had done the same, but quickly gave her a polite smile and went on her way. Dorothy blinked to herself but continued on, heading for the elevators.

Jesimae Nickels? Was that woman still trying to get a date out of Quatre? How long had it been since the investigation into her and her father had resulted in nothing?

Well, maybe this was a business issue.

Getting into the elevator she pressed her floor and smoothed back her hair. She'd gotten on colony in plenty of time so she had decided to go beg Quatre's housemaid into letting her in. Not wanting to traipse three weeks worth of luggage all over the place, she'd stopped at the manor and let the older woman fret over showing her to "her" room. While there she quickly changed for the evening, figuring she should be attired appropriately for wherever they were going.

She'd discovered some time this week that all she had with her were suits and casual clothing. None of which was going to let her pass dress code if he'd taken her seriously about selecting a fine establishment.

She didn't particularly care for the hurried shopping trip she'd taken for this dress. Basic black wasn't really her taste, and it was boringly typical. It was also a tad too snug around the chest and an inch too short in the hem.

Oh, Quatre wouldn't notice.

The elevator dumped her off on the correct floor and she sauntered down the deserted hall and into his office suite. Not much activity here this weekend. His receptions were already gone too and it was almost eerily quiet.

Breezing around the corner and into Quatre's doorway, she didn't bother to knock. He sat at his desk, blankly staring into space and pushing a pen cap up and down in his left hand.

Dorothy stood for a moment, waiting for him to notice and then quickly gave up. Why did she even bother to dress up for this man? Stepping forward, she drew his attention as she moved into the room. "Master Winner, your guards nearly locked me out."

"I'm sure they didn't mean to," he responded, giving her a smile, and slight look-over.

"I was hoping they wouldn't. I accidentally left my phone at the manor," she explained and stepped over to perch herself against the corner of his desk.

"How is the Satellite going to get a hold of you?" he teased.

"I supposed they'll just have to manage," she answered automatically, pausing to look at him at closer.

…And perhaps Miss Jesimae wasn't here on business.

* * *

Quatre was just happy to see her. Everything else he was willing and able to forget as long as she was just right here. He'd let her be away far too long and it hit him now just how much he'd missed her. As beautiful as always, she was simply radiant. And he rather enjoyed the idea that there would be no emergency interruptions tonight.

Right now, he just wanted to tuck himself at her side and forget everything.

With a smile, he tossed his pen in its holder and rose to his feet. "I made reservations early, so if you're ready, we can be on our way." Scooting his chair in, he took his suit jacket off the back and slipped it on.

Dorothy actually scooted back a ways on his desk and crossed her legs, the slit at the side of her dress giving him a nice view of her knee down. He was about to take that as a no when she reached across his desk and daintily plucked a tissue out of the box.

"Of course," she responded. "But you may want to…" she paused and made a wiping gesture towards her lips before offering the tissue to him, "before we go out in public."

Quatre froze, watching the tissue. For a long moment all he felt was his heart being squeezed in his chest. Snapping his hand up he slapped two fingers over his lips and then stopped, staring down at the faint red smudge that had betrayed him.

Taking the opportunity, Dorothy laid the tissue over the stain in his open hand and hopped off the desk towards the door. "After all, it doesn't match your date's."

* * *

"A man always blames the woman who fools him. In the same way he blames the door he walks into in the dark." - Henry Louis Mencken


	61. Chapter 61

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 61

"It's not what you're thinking."

"I'm sure it's a lot of what I'm thinking."

"Dorothy, don't. Please, don't."

"Don't what?"

"That."

"That what?"

"That! Just… let me explain."

"I don't need the explanation."

"Yes you do!"

"Why?"

"Because it's not what you're thinking," Quatre sighed miserably in exasperation. He was nearly hyperventilating and she was primly ignoring him.

"Oh for…" she mumbled, pressing the lobby's elevator button. "I passed Miss Jesimae on the way in. Either you've suddenly developed a much more fond regard for the woman than you had several months ago, or she backed you up against a filing cabinet."

Finally turning to look at him she waited for a rebuttal. Quatre blinked at her a moment in abandon. "Alright… it might be something like the second thing you're thinking," he muttered without enthusiasm.

Rolling her eyes she turned back to watching the numbers tick down. "Give me some credit."

Giving a heartbroken look to her back, he slumped against the wall of the elevator. All he really wanted to say was that he was sorry, but she would never understand for what. Why him?

"Has her persistence paid off?"

Quatre eyed her forlornly. She hadn't moved, didn't seem to be even taking that much interest in his plight, but that was sort of an odd question. "Not really," he answered, not exactly sure how to say that.

"You have to hand it to a girl that doesn't know when to quit," she mused.

If she was trying to defend her, Dorothy was doing a poor job. "I think she's gotten the point now."

Turning back to him a little she raised an eyebrow. "You weren't rude, were you?"

Setting his jaw, he tried to glare at her for the insinuation. "I didn't try to be. I was surprised," he explained.

"It's not like it hasn't happened to you before," she brushed it off as the doors finally slid open.

She stepped out without waiting for him and Quatre grudgingly followed along, feeling rather agitated with her attitude. He didn't need this right now. He certainly didn't need it from her. The instantaneous rush of fear and worry had melted into irritation and he tried to back that down. "Not the same thing."

"Oh?"

This was the type of hopeless, no-win situation that called for a self-destruct button. "No." He left it at that and nodded to the security guard that bid them a quiet good evening. Quatre opened the side door to the parking garage for her and made sure it latched securely behind him.

"Don't I get an elaboration on that?"

"No," he defensively stated as she took his arm without his approval.

"Oh stop pouting," Dorothy teased.

"I am not pouting."

"Yes, you are."

"Fine I'm pouting," he grumbled, still refusing to look at her. "And you're not helping."

"What am I supposed to do? Go challenge her to a cat fight?" she snorted. "I'm in evening wear." He finally turned to give her a very confused look and she merely shrugged. "I keep telling you you're going to have to get used to the random affections of adoring women."

"No, you don't."

"Sure I do," she waved it off. "It's not that difficult, darling. You're just going to have to learn."

"Learn what?" he sighed in abandon. Why did nothing ever go his way?

"To sidestep unfavorable interest tossed your way."

Yeah, easy for her. "I'm having a little trouble getting quite as much experience in that as some have," he heavily implied.

"You know, you're no fun when you're cranky," she snipped back. He sighed but said nothing to that, steering her towards his car instead. "Why are you so upset about this?"

_Because you're not_, he mentally rebuked her. Digging his keys out, he unlocked the car and she slipped her arm out of his so he could open her door. Pausing, he stood with the door open but she was still waiting for an answer. Trying again to shake it off, he gestured for her to get in, "I don't know."

"Dearest," she whispered, laying a hand over his on top of the doorframe she leaned towards him and he grudgingly met her eyes, "don't let trivial people bother you. It's not healthy."

Slipping into the seat, she tucked herself inside and he closed the door. Walking around the car he had to wonder if it was him or her that had automatically decided that Jesimae was merely trivial.

* * *

"Could we please talk about something else?" he nearly pleaded while he buried his face in his menu.

"You're not going to let me have any fun with this, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," Quatre returned honestly.

"Fine," she sighed and turned to her own menu. "This is nice little place," she seemed to move on to small talk.

He didn't know there were still places that didn't print prices on their menus. Glancing around at the lavish surroundings, the china and crystal that sparkled under the chandeliers, and the gold plated silverware that lined their table, he wasn't exactly sure he agreed. "It's… shinny."

Dorothy looked over at him curiously and blinked. "Shinny?"

With a mild shrug he went back to the short list of options. "Kind of overdone, isn't it?"

"I imagine practical isn't what their clientele goes for."

"You're probably right."

The two dropped into silence again before the waiter slipped back to the table and took their orders. Without the distraction, the brutal quiet settled in heavy between them. The whole place was too quiet. The building wasn't large, but the tables were spread out, giving the occupants the illusion of solitude. A lone piano picked out a slow melody in the opposite corner.

"So how's work?" she ventured.

Finally stopping his study of his water glass, Quatre looked at her across the table and sighed to himself. He knew she was avoiding the topic, and that didn't help him actually avoid the topic. There were things working and whirling and clicking in that little head of hers and he could almost hear it from here. With a mild shake of his head he tried to clear his own thoughts. "About as well I expected. I'm about to make a lot of people unemployed and angry. Our numbers are down for three straight quarters. My Board assumes it must be all my fault. And I don't really have a way to deny it."

"Well… that's a bit gloomy."

Giving her a weary smile, he picked up his water glass. "So, how was your week?"

"Not nearly so eventful."

"Lucky you," he mumbled and took a drink before setting the glass back down. "The first transport is out of the gate, I hear. You're obviously not worried about it."

"How do you figure that?" she asked, taking a drink herself.

"You wouldn't be here otherwise," he reasoned. "There's a lot of press coving this if anything goes wrong."

"There's nothing I can do about the press. My team is in place and I've coached them as best I can. They don't need me for a security blanket."

Quatre leaned back a little in his seat, trying to get comfortable and deciding he really didn't care for these surroundings at all. "That sounds nice, but it's not true."

She stopped to look at him, somewhat surprised. "What is that supposed to mean?"

With a knowing, little smile, he turned back to the patterns cut into the crystal goblets. "You're a bit of a micro-manager when you're concerned about something."

"I am not."

"Yes you are. I always knew which parts of the colony project you didn't like or didn't understand. You showed up personally if you expected something to go wrong." Quatre actually chuckled a bit at the memory. "The first time I figured out that you were just curious and not trying to second guess me on everything, I had to laugh at himself."

"It wasn't really my specialty," she defended herself and took another sip of her water.

"I know." He moved his hand to lightly trace a thumb over the indented pattern in the crystal. "I remember thinking that I finally read you right on something. It was a major achievement," he chuckled again and shook his head. "But the point is that if you were worried about it, you wouldn't be here."

"Well, it's nice to know that your insights about me have improved over the years."

He looked up to catch her turn away towards the other occupants of the restaurant. "I didn't mean any of that in a bad way," he tried.

"You've never had a hard time reading me, Quatre," she returned easily. "Which was rather annoying at first." Turning back to him she gave him a slightly irritated look for it. "But you may still be underestimating some things."

He blinked, "Such as?"

For a moment she paused and then turned her eyes down to adjust her napkin in her lap. "I'm selfish."

He noticed the waiter slip up to their table before he could reply and let him silently refill their water glasses.

"I am concerned," she stated once he turned to leave. He watched her curiously though. Her voice and posture had changed slightly. If he'd upset her, he didn't mean to. But with a shrug she picked up her glass again. "But there really isn't much for me to do. I'm not a mechanic. And even though the freighter looked like it was going to fall apart before they got anywhere near Mars, I can't second guess my crews. I helped to choose them all for a reason. Faulty equipment will be the main issue for some time, I imagine."

Giving her a confused look while she took a sip of her water, he couldn't help the odd feeling she was giving him. "So you had your speech all worked out," he commented, drawing her undivided attention again. "Why am I the only one hearing it?"

With a quiet sigh, Dorothy's shoulders drooped noticeable. "It's not a speech."

"I believe it's true, but it's still a nice speech." Again he stopped when another waiter invaded their conversation to place a plate of bread and an assortment of seasoned oils and spreads on their table. "But if you're still worried about them, why are you here?"

Dorothy gave him a weary look for a moment before raising an eyebrow at him. "I wanted to be."

…Quatre mentally slapped himself.

Apparently finished watching him stare openly at her, she picked up a piece of bread and delicately dipped it into one of the oil dishes.

This was not his day. Feeling like a complete idiot, he tried to blink his thoughts back into place and looked guiltily at his own plate. "I'm… glad you are."

There was a mild hum and she reached for another piece of bread, "This is good."

* * *

"I don't think that's going to make my list of favorite establishments." Once safely into the privacy of his own car, Quatre tried again to relax.

"It was a bit over-starched, but they were certainly happy to see you," Dorothy snickered.

Rolling his eyes he steered them back towards the main roads. "There are some places that are always happy to see a Winner walk through the door."

"Considering the amount of money your headquarters pumps into this colony, they should be."

"Yeah." The truth was far bitterer than that. The higher end retailers saw them as nothing more than bank balances. But the average people often still held a grudge, feeling somehow belittled by the effect of having the "empire" based here. For years their family had been instrumental in the local political offices of this colony, and he was sure that more than one person believed they had bought their way into power.

He'd seen the picket lines and the murderous chanting for his father to get out of this colony's decisions, even though he'd held a publicly elected office. They had no idea what they were asking for, but it didn't matter.

Things were calm by the time Quatre had finally taken over his father's position with the company. People had either realized the mistake, or simply didn't have enough fuel to ignite anything new. Still, he'd sworn to keep a low profile. Give the people, and himself, a long time to heal. Maybe the biases would fade.

"You're really not here tonight."

Glancing over at Dorothy he realized he'd spaced out on her again. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so distracted."

"It's alright," she shook it off. "I admit I'm tired too."

Stopping them at a light, he reached over and took her hand. Raising it to his lips he pressed a kiss on her knuckles and laid their arms over the consol together. It had been a long time since he'd felt so apprehensive around her. The feeling hadn't left him quite yet, but he intended to do something about it. Just the physical contact helped.

Slouching into his seat he leaned his head back against the headrest and gave her a little smile. "I'm glad you're here," he admitted again, figuring this time she couldn't ignore that she'd heard it.

Her eyes softened and he watched her posture sink back into the seat a little more too. "I haven't been doing a very good job at cheering you up," she reasoned, turning back to watch the traffic.

Also turning to watch the light, Quatre chuckled. Giving her hand mild squeeze, he said, "Well, you have another four days to try."

With a giggle she leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder. Enjoying the feeling he closed his eyes when she turned to nuzzle playfully along his jaw line. "You know what I think we need?" He hummed contentedly but didn't bother to guess. "Ice cream," she whispered, tickling his ear.

A loud honk sounded behind them and he snapped back to the road. The cars ahead of them were already through the intersection and the driver behind him was obviously in a hurry.

Dorothy moved away, cackling at him.

* * *

They probably looked insane. Two teenagers that had escaped from the prom or something. Not that either ever gave the airs of a high school adolescent exactly, but Dorothy assumed that the sideways glances had to do mostly with her dress and his suit.

Not that she cared. She wasn't sure that she didn't like the idea of being just a random teenager wandering around some tiny little sidewall business area with an ice cream cone.

"Sidewall," she mumbled. "Is that right?"

Quatre looked at her oddly and then seemed to catch on with a nod. "It's mostly slang, but yes. 'Sidewall' for the outskirts near the walls," he gestured towards where the smooth walls of the colony began to climb too steep for buildings and arched towards the ceiling, "and 'seam' for the central areas."

"So we're in the suburbs," she chuckled at the thought.

"Basically."

It was sort of fun to notice the differences. Apparently she'd never strayed too far away from the "seam" of a colony before. Looking out she could see the distinct dip as the buildings sat along the curvature in the width of the space-dwelling donut they were in. The tall skyscrapers of the industrialized center seemed almost flush with the rows of houses that lined this much quieter community. Parks and open areas were far more prevalent, and even small bodies of water were ringed with houses and little community centers.

The whole thing was one sprawling city, but it still held little neighborhoods with their own charm. It was cute in a way.

Deciding that her new shoes weren't really made for this much meandering this early in their hard-soled lives, she caught hold of Quatre's elbow and sufficiently turned him around a corner and towards a decorative little bridge railing. Noticing that it was actually a narrow, rock lined creek of some sort she looked at it suspiciously. Shrugging it off, she hiked up her dress enough to hop up to sit on top of the concrete railing. "Where's the dehumidifier for this?"

"It's probably offset by the amount of grass around here," he shrugged at her.

She hummed in acknowledgement and took a bite out of her cone.

"You're going to get your dress dirty up there," he cautioned as she scooted a little to lean against a large, decorative ball placed over one of the end railings.

"Don't care," she mumbled, licked at her ice cream before it ran out of the bite she'd stolen from the cone.

Quatre chuckled at her and leaned his elbows against the railing beside her, spooning out a bite from his cup.

"Three hundred flavors and you get strawberry," she shook her head at him.

"I like strawberry," he shrugged. "I don't have to have cherry, fudge, brownie, nut, marshmallow, asparagus, tofu, whatever."

She covered her mouth and tried to keep her bite of hot fudge, caramel cheesecake in as she laughed. "That is not what I ordered."

"What's wrong with the classics?"

"You're so classic you're boring," she waved it off and continued nursing her melting cone.

"I am not boring."

"We've got to get you out more."

"I'm out enough."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Dorothy," he warned.

"Fine."

A car drove by over the bridge, the two occupants giving them a small wave.

"Don't you want to hear that conversation," she chuckled, and nibbled at her cone again.

"'Do you know those kids?'" he mimicked.

"I suppose there isn't a lot of call for random people to just stop by around here."

"At least not in satin," he gave her dress a pointed look.

"It's…" Dorothy paused and looked down at herself before shrugging, "not satin." Alright, she didn't remember what it was made out of it and she didn't care. The thing was going in a donation box as soon as she got home.

"Close enough," he brushed it off with a second look. But before he turned away, she just happened to notice his eyes catch for a second over the slit in her skirt. Granted, the opening was a little higher than the dress intended due to her uncivilized seat, but… did she just catch Quatre Winner of all people eying her legs?

Glancing down to make very sure she wasn't showing more than she thought she was, she had to contain herself from laughing out loud. She couldn't lie and say that she minded the harmless attention, but the thought was just funny. She didn't even honestly know if that had been an admiring look, or just more concern that she was ruining her dress, but something had crossed his mind in that half-second look.

It wasn't the first time that she thought she'd caught a guilty glance from him. A handful of times before she'd wondered the same thing. It was hard to distinguish with him. After all he was nothing if not gentlemanly. She didn't usually concern herself with a glance or second look. She had enough trouble avoiding the roaming eyes of the shameless and indecent.

Still, it made her wonder. Did her dear Mr. Winner find her physically attractive? He'd complimented her before, of course, but that wasn't necessarily the same. A friendly "you look nice tonight" wasn't what she was looking for. There was a large difference between someone's polite compliment and a man's involuntary admiration.

Every once in a while she spotted a hormone in him, and it was sort of an unexpected thrill. Besides, it was flattering for her to think that he had a thing for her legs. It was nice. Maybe more than nice. Maybe she'd even be honest and admit that she liked it.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to be attractive. Just because she was comfortable enough around him to not worry about her attire all the time didn't mean that she took her looks for granted. Not that it normally did any good around him. He was obliviously dense after all. When random women were forced into kissing him to prove their interest that should probably go without saying.

Dorothy rolled her eyes to herself when he wasn't looking. Only Quatre could blunder something like that so badly. She probably could have laughed at him, but it just didn't strike her as funny as she would have expected.

Really, what had the woman expected? Well, Jesimae probably hadn't been around him long enough to figure out that "dense but adorable" wasn't really his only attribute. Backing him into a corner hadn't gotten her where she expected.

Poor Quatre. Any time his formal politeness failed him he was just lost around other women.

Not that she minded. She'd decided that she didn't care for Miss Jesimae that well. The pushy little twit should be hunting mindless sports celebrities or musicians anyway.

That sounded bitter, didn't it?

Dorothy crunched the bottom of her cone loudly, staring into space at the other side of the little bridge.

Maybe she was bitter. A little bit. On a more… catty feminine level. Although a bit embarrassed about it, she sort of liked being his only kisser. It was… special, so to speak. Not that this counted for anything. It was probably barely enough to even get that lipstick smudge on him. Nothing meaningful or memorable.

She was trying to make herself feel better. She didn't have a right to be jealous to start with.

Dorothy dabbed at her lips with her napkin, realizing that her tongue was cold.

Was this how it started? One random, meaningless woman. Then another. Maybe a few more with some less abrasive interest until one day he stops sidestepping them. When would one wash to the top? When would she get that call asking her to dinner so that she could watch him make googolly eyes at some preciously little thing that he'd finally fallen for?

She used to look forward to that, now the image wasn't so pleasant.

Oh, she'd known this man too long. She just didn't appreciate change anymore.

"I was going to tell you."

Dorothy blinked herself out of her moody little revelry and turned back to acknowledge that he was still there. "Tell me what?"

He didn't bother to answer that as he stared down at the water trickling through the tiny creek. "It just wasn't much of an opening conversation. 'Hi. How are you? Guess what happened to me today,'" he mimicked.

She couldn't help but laugh. The poor, pathetic soul. "I bet I could have guessed," she teased.

"Yeah," he sighed, searching his cup for one more bite and not finding one.

She crossed her legs with a mental giggle just to get the slit to gap open over her knee. "Quatre," she shook her head, "what are you going to do when you find a woman whose attention you do actually want?"

"Continually make an idiot of myself," he answered in monotone, still not looking at her.

He probably believed that too. Wadding up her napkin, she reached over and tucked it into his empty cup, forcing him to focus on something else. The lights had dimmed steadily since they had found themselves searching out an ice cream shop. The streetlights around them were already on, and they'd soon be trying to find his car again in the dark.

This was just their way. They always did end up in the oddest places. But there was a certain honesty about twilight. Even on Colony.

She moved her hand to his chin and turned him to look up at her. "If she minds, she's not worth it," she sagely advised, granting him a knowing smirk.

"That didn't make me feel better," he weakly chided her.

With a giggle she shrugged, for some reason much happier already. Maybe it was the ice cream. "You worry too much." She managed to hop off the railing, and then unceremoniously made a production out of dusting off her posterior.

Chuckling at her, Quatre straightened and offered her his arm. Taking it, she tucked herself into his side, deciding that her little treat had made more than her mouth cold. "I just hope I didn't hurt her feelings," he opened.

"She'll get over it."

"You really aren't very nice," he admonished her and tucked his hand in his pocket while she snuggled his arm.

"Well, she will. I can't imagine that you've been the only one to reject her overbearing overtures."

"Overbearing overtures?" he repeated and then laughed at her. "When was the last time you got rejected for overbearing overtures?"

With a wicked little giggle she pointedly laid her chin on his shoulder, "Some of us choose our targets better."

"So I'm just a bad candidate?" he sulked.

Shaking it off, she chuckled at his wording. "No, I would just know better."

"Well you have an unfair advantage."

"How do you figure that?"

Dorothy stumbled a couple steps as Quatre changed direction and pulled her across the street towards a trash can. "You already know me far better than anyone else."

"Well a little recon first wouldn't have hurt her," she brushed it off.

"I think she had me pegged about right." He tossed their garbage away and tucked his other hand in his pocket as he walked them along back the way they'd come.

"She failed," Dorothy stated the obvious, which was rather gratifying actually. No, she was liking this woman less all the time.

"She didn't know."

"That's the point."

She felt him look at her but she continuing her idle search of the area. "That's not fair. She couldn't have known I wasn't interested."

"She had no reason to believe you were," she refuted.

He turned back and seemed to consider that a moment. "I guess. But I doubt she finds too many people who aren't interested."

Raising an eyebrow she looked over at him oddly, "Meaning?"

He shrugged against her and turned away a bit embarrassed. "She doesn't seem to be the type that gets rejected, no matter what she does."

This man honestly did not know when to stop. "First time for everything."

"I suppose."

That woman was probably miles away and not the least bit concerned about him anymore, and the sap next to her was still worried he'd upset her. There was really no polite way of saying "that's what she gets." Personally, Dorothy had had enough of sharing him with her for the evening. "You should look on the bright side. Davonte would say that it is always easier to sleep with a woman's kiss on your lips."

He snorted at her. "Davonte is also a shameless flirt that would probably kiss anyone."

"True."

"I'm not like that."

"Maybe," she nodded, but tugged him to a stop and turned him to face her. "And maybe it was just the wrong woman's kiss."

He didn't have time to decipher that or to react before she pressed a quick kiss on his lips. Turning away, she slipped her arm out of his and continued leisurely along.

If he didn't intend to keep the woman then there was no reason she couldn't reclaim him for the time being.

Now then, where was their car?

* * *

Quatre had gotten them lost looking for the ice cream store and his car. Eventually they'd turned the right corner and the little block came into view. On the way home he'd mistaken his East/West axis direction and they had taken the very long way around to get back to the manor. Although when he'd turned off the engine, he'd woken Dorothy out of a light doze, so he was hoping she hadn't noticed.

Mechanically he wasn't quite functioning right. "I think you're more exhausted than I am," Dorothy observed finally.

"I might be," he lamely replied and let her open her guestroom's door.

She hummed at him suspiciously a minute and he tried not to blush under the scrutiny. But before he had to come up with anything else, she turned away into her room and tossed a, "Goodnight," over her shoulder.

The door closed again before he returned it.

Turning down the hallway, he let a little smile slip onto his face again as he aimlessly paced along. Finding himself back at the stairs, he shook his head and turned back around, moving past her door to his room. Entering, he closed the door and fell back against it, letting himself chuckle.

…He'd made her jealous.

He didn't even bother to turn on the light. Quatre flopped down on the bed and happily just kept that thought running around his head.

This hadn't turned out to be such a bad day after all.

* * *

"Trouble?"

"Minor system issues," Alstead answered.

"Will they make it?" Director Huberts worriedly twitched in the chair beside him.

He turned to give the paper pusher a pointed look, making him nod in answer to this own stupid question and hurriedly leave the cafeteria again. The reports they were getting back from IRIS 01 were more irritating than dangerous. Of course they would make it. The team could handle a multitude of issues, even in open space. Their crew was handpicked by the Lady herself, and he and his team had screened the freighter thoroughly.

The director lacked faith in his people. That was the difference between Huberts and Catalonia. Although she picked a hell of a time to show it. Couldn't she trust them all from close range for a while? Alstead didn't appreciate babysitting the director for her.

* * *

"So… how is Davonte?" he asked, falling into step beside her.

"Courting the affections of an elderly lady," Dorothy smirked at him as she handed Quatre her luggage for him to lug along to the car.

"Elderly? Is he still after that widow?"

"Yes," she sighed to herself. "I don't think he's equipped to handle a woman like that."

Struggling to open the door a head of them, he stood there to hold it for her even with all their bags in hand. She squeezed through and smiled at the funny look on his face. "You don't mean that they other way around?"

"No," she snickered, pausing in front of him while he still struggled to hold the door. Casually she picked her sunglasses out of the pocket of one of her bags and added them to her purse instead. "She's perpetually called 'widow Casadona' because she's already buried four husbands. The last three in seven years."

"Does he know that?"

"Possibly," she giggled and helpfully made sure the door latched behind them when he let it swing closed.

"Well, women have a longer life expectancy than men in most areas," he mumbled.

"Not when your forth husband is thirty-some years younger than you," she tossed back, and waited for him to unlock the car.

"Thirty…" he tapered off. "Was she investigated for any of these deaths?" he cautiously asked while trying to shuffle their bags enough to get a hand free.

Smirking at his plight, Dorothy slipped over and took one of her bags back. "We always assumed she just enjoyed planning social functions. First weddings…" she paused as she snuck a hand in his pocket, "then funerals.

Getting a yelp out of him, she pulled his keys free before he tried to scamper out of reach. Laughing, she twirled around and popped the trunk of the car, tossing her bag in first and waiting for him to maneuver the rest in. "Someone's in a good mood today," he muttered at her as she held out his keys for him.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

Quatre closed the trunk and snatched the keys back from her. She took one step towards the passenger side and squeaked when half of her hair failed to come with her. Looking back, she found a section of it closed in the trunk lid. Giving him a dirty look, he merely smiled at her and hit the remote to unlock it once more. "Oops," he faked.

She slammed the trunk closed while he happily got in, not bothering to wait for her.

* * *

Dorothy had actually considered getting another personal shuttle. Her family's had been blown to bits sitting in one of _Libra_'s hanger bays, a fact that she had decided not to inform the insurance company of, and she hadn't bothered to replace it yet. But she was beginning to see some of the hassles that personal crafts cause when trying to find an available dock at spaceports that weren't expecting you.

After waiting over an hour for an available berth, she'd had it and suggested they leave and head for Lago Bonito and the unmanned port instead. Her patience only extended so far, after all. Quatre seemed a bit more used to it and simply stayed until they were assigned a spot.

She'd only headed them for the chateau because she had a few things to catch up on there. She really wanted to go home, get her kitty back and snuggled up on her lap, and do a good deal of nothing. But that would be a tad boring for the birthday boy she supposed. There had to be something a little more exciting that she could slip him off to do. Or even not so exciting. She didn't really care.

Maybe she was more like the abandoned cat that was missing her favorite toy.

With a merry little internal chuckle she casually made her way towards the parking area. Her butler was supposed to have dropped off a car for her at the concierge service. She figured she may as well pick it up while Quatre checked his shuttle in.

"Miss Dorothy!"

She stopped, swiveling around to find who had called her name. Catching the good-natured smile that was heading her way, she tried to return the recognition with a smile of her own instead of the cringe she felt.

Leilalie Wayridge quickly caught up with her, trailing a single piece of luggage behind her. Pleasantly the girl flashed her an even bigger smile as she reached a respectable conversation distance. "Good evening. Nice to meet you here."

"You too," she responded. "Are you leaving for somewhere?" she asked, noting that they were near the domestic departure gates.

"Returning to school," she nodded, folding her hands behind her back on the handle of her suitcase. "I was back for a short visit during break."

"I see." Had she been allowed to skip so far from home just to attend school? That was unusual for a family like hers. "Where are you attending?"

"Mount Saint Angelina's. It's a beautiful place just outside of Vermouse."

She blinked. …And only a short drive away from the Capital, and a certain Preventers officer. How endearing! "It's lovely countryside," she nodded. "Do you like it so far?"

"I do," she happily confirmed. "I enjoy it very much. What about you? Returning from a project?" she inquired.

Did she tell Leilalie the truth or just answer the question? "Yes, I've been working with the Mars project on the Satellite for some time."

She seemed a bit surprised by that. "You do keep yourself busy, don't you?"

"I don't like to be bored," she snickered.

"No, I don't suppose," she giggled at her.

Dorothy was ready to make her polite goodbye when Quatre rounded the corner and came into view over Leilalie's shoulder. Dang it. Two more minutes and she would have been gone.

Her twin obviously saw the way her eyes had moved past her and turned to look behind her, recognition lighting her face instantly. There was nothing to use for a distraction and Dorothy simply rolled her eyes to herself. "Oh I see. Mr. Winner is with you this evening," she noted. "Has he been working on your project as well?" she asked, turning back to her as she obviously waited for him to join them.

Fabulous. What was her curse? To relive all the women in Quatre's little black book? "No," she smiled pleasantly. "I simply conned him away from his workload for a little vacation. His birthday is this weekend," she half-whispered as though it were some sort of secrete.

"How nice," the other cooed, turning again to watch his approach with a wide smile.

Quatre, of course, returned it readily as he picked through the other patrons, half of Dorothy's luggage still draped about him. "Miss Leilalie," he greeted warmly, obviously remembering her from their short encounter at Relena's fundraiser. "It's nice to see you again."

"You too. And I believe an early happy birthday is in order," she smiled and held out a hand to him once he'd set down his suitcase.

With a laugh, he nodded, and bent to peck a kiss on her hand. "Thank you. Someone decided that I needed a birthday trip," he heavily insinuated.

With an amused giggle, Leilalie didn't release his hand, but instead leaned in a bit, sufficiently turning her back on Dorothy completely. "Well, it's probably good for you to get away from time to time."

_Oh, yes, you should really come down and visit me some time. I'm just a short hop away. I'm sure you won't bother my jealous, over-possessive boyfriend, who already hates you. You know we're nothing official anyway…._ Dorothy had a running sitcom going through her head while she waited for the two to get over their polite schmoozing.

"I'm withholding judgment on that for the moment. She hasn't told me what she's got up her sleeve yet," he raised an eyebrow and tossed a mischievous look in Dorothy's direction.

With the same type of expression, Leilalie glanced back at her as well before batting her eyelashes at him. "Well, you're either very trusting, or very brave."

"Some days I like to think both," he stated as an aside to her but chuckled with that three-year-olds' smile of his.

"I don't know why everyone thinks the worst of me," Dorothy played along, feigning hurt.

"Never," Quatre shook his head.

With another giggle, Leilalie easily brushed it off. "I'm sure the two of you will have a pleasant vacation. I should be boarding now. It was very nice to see you both again," she gave them each a smile.

"You too," they both chimed in, Quatre's sounding more sincere.

"Have a safe trip," he nodded to her as she tugged her suitcase along behind her.

"Thank you. You too," she smiled conspiratorially at him and slipped past them towards airline boarding.

And so went the ghost of Christmas present….

Quatre let Leilalie go, a smile still stuck in place, and moved to walk with her towards the parking areas. "Where was she off to?"

Dorothy felt like not answering, but mumbled, "Back to school."

"So has she become a literature major?" How the heck would she know? For that matter, how would he know? Dorothy tossed him a look until that stupid smile slipped. "What?" he questioned.

"I didn't ask."

"Oh…. Uh, she mentioned that when I met her. Random small talk item," he mumbled an excuse.

"You have such a good memory for small talk."

"Well, I guess," he tried.

"She's attending a school not far from the Capital," she informed.

"Convenient."

"I thought it was rather sweet."

"Are she and Andrew still… sociable. Is that the word?"

Dorothy laughed despite herself. "I haven't heard anything official so I assume so."

"Does it have to involve a major announcement for someone around here to begin dating?" he seemed to wonder out loud.

"The announcement comes when it becomes a tad more serious. Especially with someone like Leilalie, it would need to be public knowledge that she's been taken off the market. Exclusiveness is hard to get without a ring or at least a public courtship," she explained as they slipped through the doors of the parking facilities.

"That seems a little…."

"Restrictive?" she offered. "It's supposed to be. No sense letting the neighbors know if you're running around with the riffraff."

"So I take it these announcements aren't made by the random teenager with their first crush."

Dorothy snickered at the idea and stepped up to the long mahogany desk. "Absolutely not."

"Hello, do you have a car waiting here for you?" the lady smiled pleasantly.

"Yes. Catalonia."

"One moment."

* * *

"So? Lunch?" Dorothy suggested once they had wound their way out of the spaceport and onto a main road.

"Wouldn't it be dinner?" he corrected.

"The time difference isn't going to work in our favor," she mildly pouted. It was still early evening, the sun was up, but it did feel like the day was gone already.

"That's alright."

Tossing him a glance, Quatre had settled into his seat and propped his head up with an elbow on the window seal. He seemed rather content watching the scenery go by. Was he still tired? Well, he had reason to be she supposed.

She was about to make a restaurant suggestion but he unknowingly cut her off. "You've said your father probably wasn't the first choice of suitors as far as your grandfather was concerned."

"Probably an understatement," she shrugged.

"When did he finally manage an 'announcement?'"

What was his hang up with this? "More than likely after they convinced grandfather of their engagement."

She felt him turn to look at her. "So your father had to contend with everyone else during the whole time they were dating?"

Again she shrugged. "It's not like it would have been anything serious. I'm sure mother was pushed off on any number of more appropriate men around, but it's all social. This function or that. Alone time is rather limited for all of decency's sake," she flourished. "I suppose he had to be content with her favor instead of her complete attention."

Turning back to the window, he seemed to mull that over a bit. "He must not have been a jealous man."

With a laugh, Dorothy tossed her dear companion a glance. For all of his sweet, gentle nature, Quatre wouldn't be one to take a situation like that very well. The possessive streak in him was usually dormant, but she'd glimpsed it just enough. "I'm sure he just had to get used to it," she brushed it off, somehow enjoying the image that this conversation had brought up.

No, Quatre would not be one to like the idea of sharing someone, no matter how innocent or expected it was. He would be nothing but restrained of course, but she could just imagine the look that would flash through his eyes and the quick tightening of his jaw at the sight of his beloved with someone else. Yes, he had a delicious touch of jealousy in him. And she had to admit that she appreciated it.

"You've sort of escaped that."

Dorothy shook the image away with a bit of a smile and focused again. "Escaped what?"

"Well, you don't really have anyone to make some grand announcement of your betrothal, or whatever."

She hummed in thought a moment. True, her family was basically non-existent, but that didn't mean that she was free to roam about as she pleased. "That's also one of the reasons I don't stay here often. Guardian or not, I would be expected to follow suit."

"To dance with whoever asks?" he turned, a slight chuckle in his voice.

"Basically."

"But if you're not here, how are you supposed to find an acceptable suitor?" he teased.

Dorothy steered them into the parking lot and stopped the car before she cast him a glare for it. "Perhaps I like more variety in my choices."

"Perhaps you've just seen them all and weren't impressed," he suggested instead as he unfastened his seatbelt.

She stopped with her hand still on the ignition key and blinked at him, but Quatre simply opened his door and got out. The catty little devil, what had gotten into him?

Well, she assumed this restaurant must have been fine with him then.

* * *

Why hadn't he thought of this before? This was fun.

"You're abusing the privilege."

"That's what you get," he shrugged and picked up his fork. "If you're nice, I'll share."

And just like that he made up for it. Quatre scooted the plate into the middle of the table between them. Dorothy happily took up the offer, leaning in to admire the cake like it was still behind glass. She'd devoted herself to paying for their entire trip as her present, so when she suggested cake after their meal he instantly picked the most expensive item off the cart.

He didn't even know what it was except that it was called the Amour cake and it came with ribbons of hardened chocolate decoratively folded to look like a bow on top of it. It was outrageously expensive for a small two-serving cake, but it was ambiance, not sustenance, that he was after.

The restaurant that they tended to frequent was nice, but not overly gaudy like the one last night. It was a rather muted establishment with tiny little tables that were just large enough for two place settings and a single candle that flickered next to the wall. It was a far more intimate feel than the cold of crystal and fragile china.

Stealing a loop of the chocolate bow with her fingers, Dorothy popped it in her mouth and hummed a contented little note. Chuckling at her, he cut a fork sized triangle out of the side and tried it, making just about the same sound she had.

"Well it must be good," she teased, picking up her fork as well.

With a nod he completely agreed. It was sort of a medley of layers, alternating orange, chocolate and vanilla creams between a more stable brownie-type cake. It wasn't a combination he was expecting but he wasn't going to complain. "Nice choice," she mumbled, digging in for a second bite.

Their waiter came back to the table with two cups and a craft of coffee and quickly disappeared again. Dorothy stole another bite before pouring them both a cup. "I don't think I've ever had dessert here. They must pair all of them with a coffee."

"Is that normal?" he asked, finding it a bit strange. He wasn't much of a coffee fan, and didn't really think of it as a dessert type of item.

"It can be. Usually it's a flavored style." Nudging the tray of sugar and cream towards him she added a little to her own cup first. "Sweeten it up a bit." Following her advice, he spooned some of the sugar into his cup and curiously waited as she tasted it, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Orange," she stated and then carefully added, "and a nut of some sort."

Stifling his laugh as best he could he tried to believe her and took a sip of his own. He'd admit that it did smell like oranges… sort of. "How can you tell?" Coffee always seems a bit overpowering to him. He preferred tea. At least he could say he could pick out some of the subtle differences in flavors with tea.

"Practice," she shrugged. "It's all in the aftertaste."

This time he did laugh at her. Dorothy always was rather cute when she coaching someone along. She enjoyed playing the leadership role and he didn't mind indulging her. Looking at his cup again, he set it down and added a little more sugar and splash of cream as well before trying it again. "Well it smells nice," he gave in, still not really tasting exactly what she had.

Chuckling at him, she went back to nibbling at the cake. "You just don't like coffee, do you?"

"It's alright, just not a favorite."

"Have you ever stopped to think about a person's likes and dislikes?"

"What do you mean?" Taking a bite of the cake again he watched her as she simply cut herself another bite as well.

"I don't know. Just caught yourself wondering?"

Quatre wasn't sure he understood the question. "About someone's preferences?" He paused but couldn't exactly come up with an example. "I don't think so."

Dorothy gave a little hum and seemed to forget about it. "Well, Master Winner. What are we going to do for your coming of age?"

Swallowing a bite of cake he chuckled at her. "You really don't have anything planned, do you?" he called her on it.

"I had a lot of very nice ideas," she defended with a small guilty look between him and the cake.

"Well, it's the thought that counts I guess."

"I've been busy," she defended.

"I'm not complaining," he stated, although purposefully didn't actually sound reassuring.

"I simply decided to be spontaneous about it."

"I understand."

"A nice little getaway?"

"It's fine."

"Oh, you're just trying to make me feel guilty," she finally waved it off.

"I told you it was fine." He didn't really keep the smile off his face like he wanted though. Dorothy tossed him a glare for it anyway and he chuckled at her.

This was, without a doubt, the prefect present. It had been entirely too long since they were last together, and he didn't mind at all that she'd simply stolen him away with no destination in mind. The simple fact that he was still on cloud nine about that little show of jealousy didn't hurt matters either. He realized that that simple revelation had completely changed his mood from last night. That cocky over confidence that only she could manage to inspire in him had taken hold with a force he hadn't known before.

Dorothy was in for more than she bargained for on this little impromptu trip. He was sure of it. Or he'd make sure of it.

"Back to the question." Purposefully bumping his fork out of the way, she snagged one of the last bites of cake, leaving him the last piece and a scatter of crumbs. "Name something you've always wanted."

Taking the last piece before she decided not to be so sharing, he watched her a moment. "Always wanted?"

"Let's face it, despite your obscene modesty with money, there's still nothing I can think of that would make an appropriate tangible present." Leaning back in her chair, she picked up her coffee cup again. "And I'm usually so good at these things," she sighed. "But there must be something. Anything. Something you want to do, see, try. Anything, anywhere."

He blinked at her for a moment but drew a complete blank. "Dorothy, I have no idea."

"Well, think about it," she shrugged and sipped at her cup. "It doesn't have to be immediate."

Something he wanted. It was an open invitation, and out of this particular woman, he was sure she absolutely meant it. Anything….

Still nothing popped to mind. Especially anything that wouldn't waste a possibly once in a lifetime chance of having Dorothy Catalonia completely agreeable to anything he desired. A couple rather mischievous thoughts popped to mind and he raised his coffee cup to take sip to cover the smile. No, no, he wouldn't waste an opportunity like this. "Hum."

"This is going to be a long thought process," she mumbled but waved it off before he could respond. "That's fine. You know, I had the greatest idea to throw some huge surprise party and kick, drag, or drug all of your friends and family into being there, but honestly I didn't have the time."

"It's alright," he shook his head. "Just the time away is going to be gift enough."

Leaning back in her seat, she seemed to agree with him as she absently sipped at her coffee.

She didn't seem to notice him watching her as her eyes hazily studied the table cloth. This was really more about just wanting to get away. To leave their individual issues behind for a while and, well, be together. She wouldn't put it into so many words, but he'd blundered into making her admit it last night. She wanted the time to themselves as much as he did. And he would certainly indulge her.

"Well then, we'll go out on a limb," she brightened, seemingly not noticing the amount of silence that had stretched in the conversation.

Blinking at her, he curiously waited for an explanation of that. Instead, she simply reached for the check holder and stood to head towards the front cashier.

Quatre watched her for a second and then looked down at his coffee cup that he was still holding before putting it down and quickly following after her.

* * *

"So where are we going?" he finally ask as they hauled their luggage into the chateau and allowed the staff to take it for them.

"To change," she tossed over her shoulder. "As soon as I send off a couple business related notes."

"You realize that that didn't actually answer my question," he mumbled as she sat down at an office computer and began pecking away.

There was nothing but a covert smile to state that she'd heard him. Tossing his hands him up, Quatre wandered around the large office and wondered if he'd really been in here before. It was hard to keep track of the rooms in this place. Stepping over to the wall, he looked down at the gardens outside, noting happily how some items had grown since he'd been here last. From the second floor it was easier to see the patterns that were painstakingly manicured into the vegetation.

There were colorful patches where things were turning colors for the fall, mixed with a collection of blooming plants that he couldn't name from here. At the farthest point stood the rose colored fountain that had replaced the angel one, its tiered waterfalls glistening in the low evening sun. Things changed. Sometimes for the better too.

"You don't really have to wait on me," Dorothy interrupted his thoughts.

"You haven't informed me what attire I'm supposed to be changing into."

"Something comfy."

Turning from the view to look down at himself, his normal khakis, shirt and vest were as comfy as he figured he would probably get.

"Or at least I want something comfier," she mumbled, obviously noting his confusion.

With a shrug he watched her stand up again and then clicked off the computer screen. "I guess I'll wait then," he mumbled and followed after her up to the family apartment. The maids had placed their luggage in the same rooms as usual and Quatre almost laughed. Their times together were common enough that they both had "their" rooms designated in each other's houses.

Taking the time, he washed thoroughly and, finding an appropriate place in the room, he began his prayers. It seemed very odd at first, since this was the first time he had practiced the purification and the prayers outside of his own home. It wasn't quite second nature to him yet, but it was becoming a comfortable routine. He still tripped over the words from time to time, but they were meaningful and familiar to him now.

Due to the large time change, he combined his afternoon and evening prayers together for the day. Only after he'd finished did he realize how long he'd taken and quickly stepped out of his room, expecting Dorothy to be impatiently waiting for him. Instead, he found her door still closed and allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

He hadn't told her yet that he had started to say his daily prayers, taking a small step into his Muslim faith. For that matter, he hadn't actually told anyone yet. There hadn't really been an opportunity exactly, and he wasn't necessarily sure how to breach the topic.

No sooner had he sat down on the couch in the common living area of the circular apartment than her door popped open and his dear Lady sauntered out… in jeans. He studied her for a second before he remembered that outfit. Mostly the product of Catherine being a bad influence on Dorothy's fashion sense, the jeans and the thin, gauzy yellow top brought a smile to his face regardless. Now matched with a more sensible cream sweater layered over it and left open, she stood for a moment at the side of the couch while he happily remembered back to their time at the circus with Trowa and Catherine. "I think I'm overdressed," he mumbled finally.

With a purse of her lips, she nodded, and then motioned for him to stand up. Not really expecting to have done anything about that statement he grudgingly followed her order and Dorothy neatly striped his vest off. Tossing it back on the couch she shrugged and twirled around towards the door. "Good enough, let's go."

With a slightly forlorn look at the discarded vest, he sucked in a deep breath and bravely followed after her. "Now will you tell me where we're going?" he asked as they began down the stairs.

"Out," she answered simply.

"Anything more specific?" he questioned.

"Have you come up with something you want to do yet?"

"No," he answered truthfully.

"Then we're going out."

With a chuckle at her, he shook his head and simply followed along. "You don't know either, do you?"

"You keep asking that," she mumbled. "I'm being impulsive."

"I'm not very good at impulsive."

Pausing at the bottom step, she gave him a smirk and narrowed her eyes. "That's what makes it fun."

It had been a very long time since that predatory gleam had been out on full display. Why did he feel like he was in for it all of sudden? Well, that was alright. He'd have to say that right now, he didn't intend to be shy. Giving her a smile to say that he wasn't going to be intimidate he waved her on. "Then after you, milady."

With a hum of acknowledgement Dorothy swept along, her hair trailing after her like the cape of B-movie villain. And Quatre didn't mind following her lead. Being spontaneous wasn't really his thing. He preferred to know the battle plan, and have things mapped out ahead of time. It was easier to adapt from there and still accomplish the goal.

Dorothy was better at handling things on the fly. Not that she was one to appreciate being caught unprepared, but she was so quick on her feet that it always looked natural. She enjoyed the challenge of it, and he knew that was most of the reason she just sashayed herself into the thick of things all the time.

Shaking his head to himself, he followed her out to the "carriage house" as she called it and watched her punch in a code to a key box on the far wall as the lights clicked on one by one. Humming to herself a moment she selected a ring and closed the box again. "I'm assuming you can drive a stick," she quipped, and tossed the keys over her shoulder at him after unlocking the second vehicle in the garage.

Quatre caught the key ring in one hand and raised an eyebrow at her back for the insinuation. "I'm going to try not to take that as an insult." She was trying to pay him back for his teasing earlier, he was sure. As if someone who had mastered some of the most complex mobile equipment in the Sphere was going to have trouble with a routine manual transmission.

Walking up to the passenger side, she opened the door and looked back at him. "Then get in."

He would have laughed at her, but that would have ruined the game. Instead, he simply did as directed and moved to get into the small sports car she had picked out. The choice itself seemed odd, and the car wasn't something he figured she'd purchased herself. For one thing it was silver instead of gold, and she was notorious for painting everything she owned that color. Including the tank of a limo that sat here beside it.

Images of Sanq Kingdom floated through his mind as he got in. That oversized contraption had carried away both Dorothy and Relena to meet with the heads of Romafeller. At the time he had recognized that that had been the primary reason that Dorothy had even attended the school. And although mostly correct, he'd still sold her short at the time.

So much had changed since then.

Fastening his seatbelt, he quickly set the mirrors as Dorothy pressed a button on the dash to raise the garage door behind them. Casting her a quick glance, he let the low lighting cover the little smile. So very, very much had changed since then.

* * *

"So where am I going?" Quatre finally asked as he drove them out of the front gate of the chateau.

With a shrug, Dorothy settled back into her seat. "I don't know exactly. I was thinking a nice scenic drive."

"Scenic?" he questioned, pointedly glancing around at the very last of the fading twilight on the blue horizon. "In the middle of the night?"

Turning to him, she propped her arm up on the window seal. "When was the last time you saw the ocean at night?"

He paused thoughtfully for a moment as they drove along the quiet suburban roads that led back towards town. "I'm not sure. Not since the war."

"Then doesn't that sound nice?"

"I suppose it does," he agreed, probably just to humor her.

To be completely honest, she didn't care in the least where they ended up. The point really was to get away from the chateau and town before anyone else caught sight of them. She didn't care to run into anyone like Leilalie again, and she didn't need to be invited out for brunch by the Marquise or anyone else. They were both over-worked and over-worried and getting away from anyone that knew them was a stroke of genius as far as she was concerned.

Besides, her dear Quatre was being a bit crass with her all of sudden, and she intended to toy with that for as long as it lasted. This spontaneous little trip was far more than she intended to let on. Quatre was a perfectly adaptable soul, and very good when called on in an emergency, but he was far more fun when trapped out of his element.

He deserved it, she decided.

She'd selected a car that was anything but something he would pick himself. It wasn't exactly her taste either, but it was perfect. The tiny, two-seat sports car was luxurious, head-turning and obnoxiously expensive. It was completely impractical and basically anti-Quatre.

Directing him through the outskirts of town, they quickly circled out onto a smaller highway. She clicked on the radio and began skimming the channels. Even here, it was impossible to miss that the media was glued to the Satellite for any information on the underway IRIS run. Moving past that she just kept circling through the stations idly until Quatre moved a hand from the wheel and grabbed hers. "Would you please just pick something?"

"Oh, was I annoying you?" she batted her eyelashes.

"You were getting there," he tossed her a look.

With a giggle, she hit the button again mostly for spite and then settled back when he released her hand. Some evening call-in show was talking about the relationship problem of the hour, and she turned it off again. "What did you say to the poor girl?"

"Say to who?" he asked, confused with the sudden conversation.

"Your hopeless admirer," she pressed. "Miss Nickels. You know, the one with her heart on the line, hoping for the beginning of some beautiful romance?" she flourished, really getting into this.

There was a very quiet groan from the driver's seat and the dark road ahead did nothing to distract the man from the question. "I… I told her the truth," he finally muttered.

"That even though you find her attractive you're just a prude and have no time for the obvious affections of a woman?" she batted her eyes again even if he was avoiding looking at her.

"No, that is not what I said," he groused at her.

"That you thought she was pushy and smothering?" she guessed again, a giggle coming through just a bit.

"No," he hissed at her. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" she feigned innocence.

"I told her I was flattered," he cut in, nicely irritated with her. "There are just other things in my life right now."

That she did chuckle at. "What, Master Winner, do you have that actually prevents you from having a romantic relationship?" she sincerely asked. Although she would secretly admit that she had the same problem, she made her point. There were issues in both of their lives that would make it difficult to attempt something intimate with anyone else.

As she figured, he didn't answer, and they just kept driving.

She'd probably taken that too far. In all of this he was more concerned that he'd hurt the girl than anything else. Dorothy supposed she understood that. It wasn't nice to trample on another's hopes. But it wasn't his fault. Some things just don't click.

But she didn't have to tell him that right now. It was more interesting this way.

Although slowly his silence nagged at her, and as they turned around a curve in the road she began to wonder if she was going to have to start a new topic.

"There really isn't anything specific… is there?" he quietly returned.

She frowned at him as he stared at the road ahead. "Nothing but yourself," she answered honestly. Did she keep this up or did she actually try to be helpful? Well, he really wasn't much fun when he was brooding, and she hated to see him sulk. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

He didn't. He had secrets, things he kept because he believed no one would understand or approve. It wasn't healthy on him, but she of all people understood it. His life didn't offer him much release. He was probably afraid to get too close to someone who he'd eventually feel the need to explain all of it to.

She didn't blame him for that. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"I suppose," he slowly conceded. "But nothing about her felt right," he mumbled.

And to someone like Quatre that was probably the most articulate truth he could manage. He didn't need a chart of reasons or excuses. It was deeper than that. Far more emotional than intellectual. Well, she couldn't deny his gut instincts and she wouldn't start now. "Then it's a good thing you let her down gently," she ended it.

"I know that she really had her heart set on it for some reason."

She wasn't sure at this point who he was convincing here. "Are you second guessing yourself?" she carefully asked.

"No," he snapped, turning to look at her.

"Alright," she soothed. Well at least he meant it.

He sighed and shook his head. "No. I just feel bad."

Laughing, she tried to brush it off as he mumbled something unintelligible to himself. "I wouldn't worry, dearest. This is not going to be the last time you get unwanted attention." Quatre sighed and sat in dejected silence for minute. Hum. She probably shouldn't have brought this up again. She seemed to have killed the mood.

"You know, I said I was flattered, but I don't really know that I meant it."

"Why wouldn't it be flattering?"

"I guess in a way it is, but…."

"But?" she prodded with a smile that she just couldn't help.

"But it was unwanted attention, like you said. I didn't do anything to gain it. I guess… I figure it probably wasn't me that she was actually interested in," he confessed.

Cocking her head to the side she looked at him by the dashboard lights and wondered why that had never crossed her mind. "I'm not sure Miss Jesimae is purely the gold-digger type."

"I'm not really saying that she is. I just mean…. She knows nothing about me," he tried instead.

"That's usually the point of dating, dearest."

"I guess," he sighed, and seemed to leave it at that.

That wasn't exactly the issue. No, Jesimae didn't know him. If she did, this wouldn't have happened in the first place. No, this was purely about Quatre. _"I didn't do anything to gain it."_ That was the piece of truth in there. Was he just this put out by not being the one to make the first move? She'd thought that before with this particular woman, but this wasn't really the same.

"You do know that one-sided affection happens, right?"

He glanced at her and then back to the road, obviously confused. "What?"

"You said that you didn't do anything to gain her interest in you. That's not uncommon. It's probably far less common for two people to be simultaneously attracted to each other."

With a small laugh he nodded. "I'm fully aware of that."

For a moment she paused, thinking of most of the relationships in his life. His estranged family and the pained relationship with this father hadn't been good on him. "You were the one that told me that people aren't responsible for others' emotions. You don't have to make someone love you."

There was an eerie silence that she swore she felt more than heard. Quatre didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe for a moment before he finally sucked in a deep breath. "Does it hurt to try?" he slowly questioned.

She watched his profile for a moment, confused. "Of course not." There would be a lot of psychologists and behavioral scientists that would be out of job if there was no human need to be attractive to the opposite sex. "That's not really what I meant."

Softly shaking his head, Quatre turned to give her a smile. "I know what you meant."

She wasn't sure he did, but rather than press an issue she wasn't sure how to put into words, she chose to roll her eyes and settle back in her seat. "How do we get into these conversations?"

"Funny, that's usually my line."

With a laugh she agreed with him.

"So, how far away are we from the beach?" he asked.

"Oh, probably about three hours."

* * *

It had taken them closer to four. Granted it probably would have been a shorter trip if they had actually mapped out where they were going and used the larger highways, but Dorothy had been "adventurous" and refused to bother with a map. They had eventually run into the ocean, considering it would be hard to miss, by just continually heading in a Westerly direction.

It had been the longest road trip of Quatre's life. He hated feeling lost, and that was exactly what they were. They didn't have a clue where they were, or what the name of the town was. He didn't remember half of the highway names that they had used to get here, and he had no good idea how they were getting back. Dorothy's idea of spontaneous was giving him a headache.

A quiet giggle could be heard over the sound of the waves and he turned to look down at his travel agent, who was sitting on a convenient rock. "See, if you got out more, you'd learn to loosen up."

With a sigh, he decided it wasn't worth the argument and picked a rock to sit down on. "Yes, dear," he mumbled.

"This isn't much of a beach."

He silently agreed with her. The coastline was rocky, and it didn't seem to be a major draw of tourism. It had taken them a little work to make it down the stair stepped cliff and to the water's edge, especially in the dark. The half moon hung low in the sky already, reflecting nicely along the low waves.

The town that they had unwittingly pulled into was at the end of the road they had been on. The outskirts had sprawled for miles as they tried to make their way through unfamiliar territory, but they eventually found the heart of the city and the huge assortment of oceanfront establishments. Almost everything was of course closed now, and traffic was almost nonexistent through the business district.

Quatre admitted, as the soft rhythm of the waves worked its charms, that it was a beautiful night in what seemed to be a quant and hospitable town.

Glancing sideways he found Dorothy's profile as she sat hugging her knees to her. Then why did this make absolutely no sense?

Reevaluating this whole trip, he had to wonder at her. Let's face it, Dorothy was a social butterfly, her trips to get away typically involved finding the loudest, busiest place around and languidly taking full advantage of whatever it had to offer.

Looking from side to side, he tried to peer down the beach as far as he could in either direction. There wasn't a glimmer of light on the horizon that he could find. Driving through they had found the cities were spread out and more isolated due probably to the winding nature of the coastline. Any waterfront was statistically a higher populated area, but they were a long ways from a highly trafficked tourist trap.

It wasn't a secluded resort, but it still had a cozy feel to it. …What were they were doing here?

"It's nice to be away," she commented as though knowing what he was thinking.

Turning back to the rolling waves, he nodded. "Yes, it is." Well, why bother complaining? Although, taking another quick look around them, he scooted over closer to her. "Do you actually remember how to get back?"

Leaning into him as well, Dorothy turned and nearly bumped her nose with his before whispering, "Who said anything about going back?"

* * *

"I climbed up the door and opened the stairs,  
Said my pajamas and put on my prayers,  
Then I turned off the bed and crawled into the light,  
All because you kissed me goodnight!"

(Excerpt from a poem/song accredited to at least 40 different people.)

"Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits." - Paul Eldridge


	62. Chapter 62

AN: Yes, it is me! Yes, I'm still alive! Yes, I am continuing this! Yes, I do still plan to one day finish this! Yes, I should be beaten for making you wait so long! Yes, I'll shut up now so you can read!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 62

Quatre stared at her for a long moment, a debate waging over whether he should respond to her words, or if he could get away with acting on how close she was. It wouldn't take more than inch to close the distance to her lips. And if body language was fifty-five percent of a conversation….

"Are you in a hurry?" she whispered, brushing her little nose against his.

"No…."

"Good," she quipped, turning away in a flash and instead leaning back to rest her shoulder against his. Blinking back the bitter disappointment, he turned back to the waves and tried not to mutter out loud. "There was a little light house inn down the road that I saw when we came in."

Stopping, he turned towards her again in abandon. "You intend to stay?"

"Well, it would be a long drive home for nothing."

"You knew that coming out here!" he accused.

"I wasn't sure we'd find such a cute place. This seems like a nice little spot, doesn't it?"

"For what?" Quatre questioned, exasperated with her.

With a shrug, Dorothy merely snuggled in a little farther and laid her head against his shoulder.

He had half a mind to move really quick and let her fall over, but he didn't. "You do things just to confuse me, don't you?" he accused her.

"Sometimes," she answered truthfully.

"We didn't bring any luggage," he reminded her, going back to the problem at hand.

"So we'll pick up what we need here."

"We don't even know where here is."

"I'm sure they sell toothbrushes here somewhere."

"It's the middle of the night."

"So we'll wait until morning."

"And you intend to stay at some little inn tonight?"

"It didn't look half bad, actually. I doubt it's a real lighthouse though," she mused. "Probably just built for the nostalgia."

"We don't know that they'll have rooms available."

Shifting a little, she nuzzled against this jaw line and he tried not to squirm away. "Did you see anything in this place to make you think they wouldn't have available rooms?"

She was probably right. If this town ever actually saw tourists, they weren't here now. "Probably not," he conceded.

"There now," she cooed. "It won't be bad. If we decide we don't care for the scenery as much tomorrow, we'll just continue on our way."

"Are you running away from something?" he half-teasingly asked. This seemed like an awful lot of trouble just to get away for a while.

"Yes." Moving, she turned and used her arms to lean on before settling her chin back on his shoulder. "I'm holding you hostage, Master Winner."

Quatre couldn't help the smirk. "What do you want for ransom?"

"You to pick a birthday wish."

* * *

"Bonjour. Une chambre?"

"Duex, s'il vous plaît."

"For the nuit?"

"For now, oui."

"For now?"

"Possibly longer."

"Je vois. Lots of chambres. Take your pick."

They really were a long ways from a major city. A broken Basic-Local mix wasn't something you heard often. Many people, especially older generations still remembered and used their ancestral languages, but it wasn't common to hear it in everyday conversation. But of course, smaller communities still had their own dialects of sorts. And from the looks of the little, old inn keeper she was rather set in her ways.

Dorothy stepped up to the high counter as the elderly woman squinted at them, hardly able to see over the wooden bar. Quatre tried to give her a polite smile, but in the dim lighting of the tiny entryway, he got the distinct impression that the lady was scrutinizing them heavily.

"You come long way?" she finally asked as Dorothy pointed to a couple rooms on the map of the inn.

"Oui. Vacation," she replied without any farther explanation.

The little woman gave a bit of a snort. "Non vacation here. Ville ennuyeuse," she stated, tapping the book next to the map on the counter. Dorothy picked up a pen and wrote in it before the woman turned and pulled two keys off the wall behind her.

Waddling out from behind the desk, she tottered on down the hallway. They followed in silence as she led them the length of the hall and to the last doors. Opening each door herself, she left them open and then specifically turned back to hand them their appropriate key.

Eying them again rather distrustfully, her squinty eyes scanned the floor around them. "Bagages?"

"Non. Being spontaneous," Dorothy explained.

Again the woman paused to study them, not moving so that they could enter their rooms. "Ah," she nodded. "Prêtre? Desk drawer."

And then with a bit of a smile she stepped between them, forcing them both to hug the walls of the very narrow hallway to let her pass, and continued back to the front. Quatre watched her go a moment before he turned back to Dorothy who gave an irritated sniff. "Why does everyone assume we need a priest?"

He couldn't back down his chuckle as she slipped into her room and turned on the light. So the little inn keeper assumed that they were fleeing to elope? Two teenagers who left home suddenly with no luggage and were out in the middle of nowhere. That was a reasonable conclusion. Although he wondered why she didn't seem the least bit inclined to try to talk them out of it.

This may end up being a lot more fun than he'd thought.

Stepping through his door, he turned on the light and inspected the small room. Floral wallpaper covered the walls and ceiling and even the doors of the armoire. A desk sat between the open door and the door to what turned out to be the tiniest bathroom he had ever seen. The bed took up the rest of the available floor space, but by comparison, was huge. Two single windows stood on either side of it and offered the only view to the outside, their blinds open to reveal nothing but the black night outside.

Well, it was… cozy.

Setting his key down on the desk, he smirked to himself and opened the top drawer to reveal a collection of pamphlets, including a list of local churches as the woman had implied.

He was still thinking of a good way to rib Dorothy with that when suddenly the old innkeeper reappeared in the doorway and offered him a plain, brown bag. Well if the lady had the wrong idea before, he was sure she would now.

"For you," she motioned for him to take the sack and then turned quickly to Dorothy's door where she gave her one as well. "Nécessités."

"Merci," Dorothy called after her as the woman again went waddling on her way.

Quatre also returned a, "Thank you," but the little lady didn't bother to respond.

Peeking into the sack he found a collection of travel sized necessities, as the woman had said.

"See there," Dorothy happily turned back into her room. "Now you have a toothbrush."

Sighing in agreement, he took a careful look down the hall to make sure the woman wasn't returning again, and stepped across the hall to Dorothy's room. Almost identical, the walls were covered in a different pattern of paper, and the ceiling was painted cream, but the same general assortment of antique looking furniture graced the small room.

"When was the last time you were at a hotel that gave you an actual key?" he wondered out loud as Dorothy tentatively sat down on the bed and bounced a couple times.

"When was the last time you had to sign your name in the guestbook?" she returned.

"Really?" Rethinking that, he leaned out to glance down the hall again, but the inn keeper had disappeared. "Do you think anyone here would recognize us?"

"I doubt it, but I put your name down as Vainqueur instead of Winner." She snickered at her own cleverness and Quatre rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing that's French for Winner? Subtle. And you?"

"Catalonia isn't terribly unheard of and Dorothy is certainly common enough." With a slight crinkle to her nose, she rose again and walked over to her armoire and pulled the doors open.

"You don't appreciate a common name?" he smirked.

"A tad trite for my liking."

She pulled out an extra pillow and tossed it over her shoulder to land on the bed, and then found a pillowcase as well. Pausing, she inspected the edge of it, and what appeared to be a needlepoint pattern stitched in the shape of a trellis of roses.

Watching her humorously, Quatre merely shrugged to himself. "You could have always gone by Margaret." He backpedaled out of her room and into his own by the time she finished giving him her murderous look. "I had a feeling you didn't like your middle name," he mumbled.

"What gave you that impression?"

Besides the withering glare? "Well, you never really use it."

Sauntering after him and into his room, she stood in the doorway as Quatre turned to dumping the contents of his sack out onto the desk. "I don't recall ever using it around you," she stated pointedly.

"You're a noteworthy investor. I had to check that we had all of your personal information correct."

"Really?" she drawled.

Giving up, he set the small items out in rows and turned back to give her a smile. "Maybe I did a little homework on my own before that."

Turning suspicious, Dorothy stepped over and sat down on his bed. Bouncing a bit, she seemed to compare the two and then looked back at him. "Before what exactly?"

Quatre's smile turned a bit guilty and he looked away to the window. "Before you walked in and offered to back the colony project."

For a moment there was nothing, and then a soft hum came. "I found it odd that you said you'd been looking for me in that first little meeting."

"Can you blame me?" he ventured.

"Making sure I wasn't up to finishing what I'd started on _Libra_?" she questioned, tucking her feet under her.

With a shake of his head, he nearly chuckled at that idea. "Do you really think that would have been my concern?"

"I'm not sure," she slowly admitted.

He turned just enough to look at her curious expression and stopped to study her face a moment. Sitting there on the bed, her feet under her, her hands in her lap, it did remind him a little of how he left her on _Libra_. "I wanted to see if you were alright. I needed to know for sure that Trowa was right and that you'd been able to get off that ship. I wanted to know that you'd moved on."

"So interested in little ol' me," she teased.

With a hapless nod, he sighed and unthinkingly moved his right hand over to cover the scar on his side. "You have a way of making an impression."

"Or a mark, in this case." Rising, she stepped forward and Quatre caught the glint in her eyes a little too late. He felt her hand press against his left side as she slipped up close to him.

Caught between her and the desk, he couldn't back away and decided quickly not to try. Forcing his newfound confidence back to the front, he held her gaze as evenly he could. "I don't mind."

"Apparently. But why not?" she asked, her eyes losing none of that predatory gleam. She was prowling, watching for an opening, baiting him. She wanted him to resist temptation like a good little boy and let her pick on him for it.

He smiled despite himself. "Look what it got me."

One pitchfork eyebrow rose. "Do tell."

Leaning in, he softly whispered in her ear, "One irrefutable birthday wish."

"Hm. Which is?" she returned in kind.

Pulling back, he gave her a patient smile. "I have no idea."

* * *

"01 ran into some trouble on Mars."

"What sort of trouble?" Alstead carefully asked. Huberts was a nervous little man. He had come a long ways under Lady Dorothy's tutelage, but with her gone, the Director was on his own and obviously not enjoying it.

"Delays," he sighed. "We got reports in yesterday from the M1 colony that unloading took three times longer than expected. They relayed to us that Captain Nustrous will try to make up the time in route. They were already having… mechanical issues," he mumbled to a close.

"What sort of mechanical issues?"

"I brought you the message." Pulling out a set of papers, he handed them over and Alstead scooted aside the other pile of papers on his desk to scrutinize the report. "I'm not sure what I'm looking at," Huberts lamely confessed.

The Foreman didn't bother to console the man that mechanics was his job, and instead flipped through the sheets. Since the ship had left subspace radio range, they had no way to know what was happening unless it was relayed by Mars. There had been small incidents all the way along, but this was the first he'd heard of real issues. "There's nothing detailed enough to help us. We'll set up for the repairs I can gather from this, but until we know more there isn't much we can do."

"It says that the crew has been effecting repairs where they can."

With a mild grimace he could only imagine what that was worth. "That's why there's an onboard mechanic. Space gets lonely," he replied and handed the papers back.

Unfolding himself out from behind his desk, he started off towards the parts lockers to take inventory. According to the word of mouth report they passed on, it was a good bet that at least three systems would need to be rewired.

"What about the delays?" Huberts called after him.

"Not my department." Alstead didn't bother to turn around.

* * *

"I really should have thought this through."

"Those are the words I've been waiting to hear."

"Oh shut up," Dorothy sniffed. How was she supposed to know that she wouldn't be able to buy something a little more respectable to wear for Sunday Mass? There wasn't a store in this town that opened before noon, if at all, on Sunday and the only service time was early.

Quatre was merrily chuckling at her. The two had gotten some curious looks in the little church and she figured they'd be the talk of the town for a week to come. The inn keeper was right. "Ville ennuyeuse."

"What does that mean?" he questioned as they strolled away from the church.

"I think she meant this is a boring town."

He hummed to himself and the two continued on the short walk back to the inn. "Does that mean it's lost its charm to you?"

With a sigh, she supposed she could only admit defeat. "I suppose so."

"So are we leaving now?"

Snatching hold of his arm, she looped her elbow through his and snuggled against his side. "No."

He only returned a half-amused, half-confused smile. "Why not?"

"Because we have to find the birthday boy breakfast first," she cooed, and leaned over to nuzzle him, sufficiently making him stumble off the sidewalk. With a little evil giggle, she let him go and laced her hands behind her back as she continued along.

"Must you do that," she heard him grumble.

With a mental nod she happily affirmed it.

"How much French do you know?"

Debating, Dorothy finally shrugged. "Enough to order off a menu, basically."

"I think you know a little more than that."

Trailing him along behind her, she savored the salty breeze that twirled along the little coastline town. "Not much more. I never had to study languages, I just picked some up here and there. My Italian is better, Spanish is poor, and Swedish is horrible."

"Swedish?"

"My paternal grandmother was Swedish. Not a lot of blonds on the Dermail side," she added as the breeze tossed a lock of her pale hair pointedly in her face.

"I see. So no linguistics training for you?"

There was a snicker to his voice, and she supposed he knew well enough by now that it could have been a possibility. Of all the more tasteful hobbies her dear grandfather had tried to push her into, linguistics hadn't been on the list. Not that he would have minded if she would have shown an interest.

Brushed her hair back in place, she sniffed. "No. It seems Leilalie had already spoken for that area of study."

"I wondered when that was going to come up."

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, she turned enough to watch him narrowly avoid running into her. "Meaning?"

"You still have a problem with her, don't you?" he questioned, meeting her look with a curious expression.

"Maybe," she stated, turning back to continue on.

"You didn't appreciate running into her yesterday."

"I usually don't."

"Do you still have trouble reconciling what you've become?"

It was a much more honest question than the previous teasing. Oh, dear Quatre. He did have a knack for interrupting her moods. Good or bad, it seemed. Although this topic did give her visions of the night she was called enticing by the same Mr. Winner. "Some days," she simply answered with a smirk. Pausing for a step, she snagged a hold of his arm and looped her elbow through his as they crossed the street towards the inn. "Other days, I have you."

"That's sweet," he teased.

"Isn't it?" Turning she tried to nuzzle his ear again, but Quatre pulled away. Using her elbow in his, he quickly swung her around in a full circle, getting her to squeak as she barely managed to keep her feet.

"You really shouldn't play in the street," he happily cautioned, tugging her to the curb and out of the way of non-existent traffic.

* * *

Quatre gave the woman behind the counter a look that he hoped would read: _Don't worry, it's not you, she does this all the time. _He was sure his displaced smile didn't look right, but it was all he could manage.

Back when they were first working together with developers and project leads on the new colony, he had been completely taken aback by the way the newly titled Lady Catalonia threw her weight around. Now, even though he was accustomed to it, he still didn't really know what to do when that cute little pointy nose of hers rose.

The lady at the front desk watched them carefully as Quatre turned to follow Dorothy toward the elevators. Poor woman. Dorothy didn't appreciate subtle insinuations that she couldn't afford something. Apparently the car they were driving had been purchased just to shut up an offending salesman for mistaking her as a common teenager too.

She really needed to work on her people skills.

Entering the elevator she handed him a key card. She'd taken them from the woman practically without permission after a very short glaring contest and a beep of approval for the charge on her bank card. "You should really be nicer to people. How was she supposed to know your net worth?" he mildly chided.

"She shouldn't assume things," she sniffed.

"If you were running this hotel, you would train her to do exactly the same thing," he reasoned.

"…Not to me."

"Hypocrite."

Instead of defending herself in typical flourish, Dorothy apparently couldn't help an evil giggle.

With a sigh, Quatre hung his head a moment and then let it go. After their history, he was sure she knew better than to even try.

He'd been thinking about that more and more the past couple days. The sheer amount of time they'd spent together ensured that they knew each other rather well. The situations that they found themselves in during those times ensured they knew each other almost as much as humanly possible.

The doors opened again, and Dorothy led off into the top floor's landing area. A large, open sitting area was elegantly laid out with marble tile, a couple sofas, a scattering of plush sitting chairs, a rot iron café table set and an ornately carved upright piano. The skylight overhead allowed enough light to let the assortment of potted plants and trees grow around the room as well.

It was quite a bit different than the humble, little inn of last night.

Dorothy didn't bother with the scenery and walked past it all to one of the four doors arranged around the foyer. Trying her card, it failed to open the door and she sighed and moved over to the next one. Watching her, Quatre tried his key card and heard the quiet click as it accepted it.

With a shake of his head, he walked into his room and into the bathroom to wash up.

During the drive, he had told her that he had begun to say the daily prayers Islam offered. He hadn't been entirely sure how to explain it, or explain what he was feeling about his faith in general, when she asked. But as usual, she hadn't. With a simple congratulations, she had happily promised to make sure they were nicely tucked into a "respectable" hotel by noon for him.

Quatre had muttered out loud that he really should have learned by now not to worry about her response to anything. His dear Dorothy had laughed at him outright and apparently found the whole idea that he'd been a little reluctant to tell her ridiculous.

As he quietly tried to settle himself for prayer, he wondered how ridiculous it really was.

* * *

"How well do you think we really know each other?"

Dorothy closed her mouth, the question of why he didn't come get her dying easily. "Some days I'd say fiftieth anniversary-ish."

Quatre chuckled at her but kept playing, the sweet song echoing faintly around the marble foyer. "Some days I'd agree with you."

Sitting gingerly on the piano bench beside him, she watched his fingers gracefully waltz over the keys. The piano itself was a bit out of tune, but she didn't suppose it was really here for guests to play themselves lullabies. "You seem preoccupied with that idea today," she observed.

The odd idea of being fearful of telling her that he was finally returning to the traditions of his faith had made her curious. He had sidestepped telling her any useful information about how often he felt that though, and the conversation had tripped over itself into something else after that.

"You started it."

"Did I?" she raised an eyebrow even though he wasn't looking at her.

"You asked if I ever thought about a person's preferences. I think that's been stuck in my head."

Oh yes, her little musing about apples verses oranges. "Hm. Well, how well do you think we know each other?"

"Usually I'd say 'very well' but sometimes it's difficult to say with you," he flashed her a smile and returned to watching the keys.

So she still managed to keep a level of obscurity? What fun. Leaning in to whisper in his ear, she sweetly said, "I appreciate a mystery."

Quatre chuckled and nodded. "I'm sure. But I do know that I don't have you actually figured out."

"I might be a tad abstract, but I think you understand me better than I particularly care for at times." Yes, times like when she was piecing together the lives of Satellite workers and cleverly running amok. Her dearest knew and understood her motives, but unfortunately didn't know not to tread on them.

"No, you're not one to appreciate that."

With a sideways glance at him, she supposed she would have once agreed with that. Now… she was beginning to see the benefit of a tender confidant. "Aren't I?"

The melody changed as he started something else, and a smile slipped onto his face. "You may be getting better at accepting someone's meddling."

Meddling, no. No, it was this sort of delightful little dance that she enjoyed so much. "Some_one_'s, yes. I suppose I am," she teased. There was, of course, only one person who could get away with creative little insights like this.

Quatre also turned to give her just a little sideways look. "I appreciate that trust."

So bloody earnest. She rolled her eyes at him and leaned in again to set her chin on his shoulder. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You have your moments of… opacity."

"Really?" he smirked, sounding rather pleased with himself.

With a laugh, Dorothy completely understood. Secrets could be fun little things. The allure was in the mystery, whether that was earth shattering information, or the refusal to say which china pattern you liked better. It was all in the effect of the delay.

And there was just enough of a sly, sneaky side to Mr. Winner to understand that game. Especially on this trip apparently.

"What secrets do you still hide from me, love?" she whispered teasingly.

The melody skipped. The hands that had been carelessly crossing the keys stuttered.

If it hadn't been for that momentary lapse, she would have never noticed it. But with that slip, she knew.

He didn't try to answer. He just continued on playing as he had been, probably hoping she hadn't noticed. He sidestepped her quietly with, "I've picked my birthday wish."

Dorothy blinked, and leaned back again. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have any idea how to ask that question again… sincerely.

Forcing a smirk, she brushed her hair back behind her shoulder again. "And what is it?"

Stopping the song, he picked out a single hand melody instead. "I want to make good on my wish to get you to sing something I can play."

Her thoughts completely faltered. Shocked still, she watched him give her a happy little smile as his fingered continued on picking out "Happy Birthday" on the keys. "You're kidding," she mumbled.

"Doesn't have to be Happy Birthday," he shrugged and turned back to keys. Starting again with both hands he embellished the quant little tune. "It just seemed fitting."

Was she wrong? Was that little pause not the mark of a guilty conscience that she thought it was? Snapping back to the present, she shook her head at him. "That's your birthday wish?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"I give you a blank check for anything you want, and this is what you spend a whole day coming up with?"

"You said anything," he reminded her, starting the song over again. "I don't try to be difficult to please." Pointedly giving her a look, he continued, "Like some people."

Well… if that's what he wanted…. "Give me a bar, Mr. Winner."

"Really?" he grinned.

"I won't deny you."

With an almost childlike laugh, he began again, letting the antiquated tune stand on its own. And Dorothy, very sweetly, sang him happy birthday.

* * *

"Did you just ask… a destitute man on the street… for a map?" he very quietly questioned as she sat down again.

"Hum? Oh, yes. Little trick Catherine taught me," Dorothy mumbled and then went back to her scrutiny of the slightly smudged brochure. Quatre had been on the phone at the time, and she hadn't bothered to make him walk across the street with her.

"When you said you were going to ask for information, I thought you were going _in_ the train station."

"Didn't need to," she responded instead and stood up again. "Finished?"

With a mixed look of abandon and concern, that she supposed she completely understood, Quatre shook it off and stood up.

Leaving the quant creperies that they had stopped at for lunch behind, they set off on foot a ways until Dorothy could point out the towers of the port. The medieval dock and old section of the city were obviously the tourist highlight here. And it seemed as good a place as any to escape everything… except their phones of course.

"Hello."

Dorothy padded along as Quatre walked beside her, obviously getting yet another birthday wish from an adoring sister. She supposed stealing him away on his coming-of-age was a poor choice. She should have come up with something a bit more flashy.

Her phone was hanging heavy in its relative silence. She'd been expecting a call from the Satellite since she left, but so far, it hadn't come. Not that she could avoid the coverage of the underway mission, even from here. Nothing new topped the news reports though, so the ship hadn't blow up and the crews were keeping to themselves. That was all she could ask for.

The street narrowed to just a path between the buildings and Dorothy raised her sunglasses to the top of her head. A quick run into a store next to the hotel had provided a change of clothes for them both. She'd thought about a new pair of glasses, but hadn't found anything she liked. Her dress wasn't her typical taste either, but she'd decided not to be picky. She'd simply taken the first cute, short dress that she'd found, and was thrilled that it was yellow.

He liked her in yellow.

He also liked her legs.

At least she suspected strongly that he did.

Did that matter?

Should she admit that it mattered?

The two walked along through the pockets of people and wound their way out of the compact "old city" and into the truly ancient part. Here the city dropped sharply towards the sea and the sparkle of the high sun on the ocean waves was almost blinding.

"Sorry," Quatre mumbled as he hung up.

"Not at all," she brushed it off, taking the arm he offered her. "I can't keep you all to myself."

"You're doing a pretty good job."

"All part of my evil plot."

"I've seen your evil plots. I like this better."

Reaching over with her free hand, she poked him for it. With a laugh he managed to catch her hand and land a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Trying to stifle the shiver, she hissed, "Stop that."

"Where are you taking me anyway?"

"To throw you off the dock."

As if in response, the alley they were in randomly dead ended as a tangent street about four feet down opened up in front of them. A cement block was oddly positioned to create a makeshift stair to the much lower walkway. "No being agitated on my birthday," he teased, hopping down to the stair first and offering her a gentlemanly hand.

"You already gave up your birthday wish."

"You really think that was a bad choice."

"I offered you anything." She took his hand and hopped down as well and Quatre moved to the next level and waited for her again.

"No. You offered me anything from you." She paused, struck by the knowing sparkle to his smile. "It would have been a shame to waste that on something impersonal."

_Bloody idiot_. "Sap," she muttered instead.

He simply shrugged as she stepped down. "Which way?"

A pipe railing guarded them from walking into the street itself so the only option was to look for a crossing. Not caring, she simply stepped to her right and started off, allowing the salty breeze to blow against their backs this way.

"You have a lovely voice," Quatre ventured.

A pace behind her, he didn't have to see the eye roll. "Thank you."

"How many years did you suffer through training?"

"Three."

For a few paces neither said anything. "Um… something bothering you?"

Yes, there was a nagging in her like some sort of mental itch. She couldn't define it, and she couldn't ignore it. "Why would you say that?"

"I keep getting short, honest answers."

Stopping, she turned to give him a confused look and Quatre at least had the good sense to look slightly ashamed. "Fiftieth anniversary-ish…" he tried.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow but her retort was cut off by the ringing phone in her purse. With an internal hiss, she pulled it out and flipped it open. "Catalonia."

"Lady Catalonia, sorry to disturb you."

Figures. "Director Huberts. What's the trouble?"

"Um… delays and mechanical failures."

Well at least the man knew by now how to be straight with her. There was hope for him yet. "How bad?"

"They still might make up the time, but the ship has a list of repair needs, and this is only what was forwarded to us from the Mars colony."

"Delays will be more damning to the press. We can't cover up the fact that they're late. As long as it isn't towed into dock, you can smooth over the repair needs."

"How do I do that?"

"Don't tell them. Besides, it's her maiden voyage, Director. You always have to work out some kinks."

"Those 'kinks' are starting to look expensive. Alstead's been carting part boxes into the repair dock for two hours now."

"Let our dear Foreman worry about the parts. Just keep the press away from him," she advised. "What about the crew?"

"No report on them."

Excellent. Captain Nustrous was keeping them on a tight leash around the Mars crews then. Dorothy knew she liked that woman.

"The unloading crew on Mars though…."

"What about them?" she bit.

"Well, that was the main reason for the delay. It seems to be very unorganized up there."

Imagine that. "I didn't have time to pay much attention to that side of it before. I'll have to do a better job of it when I return."

"Oh. Alright. …When might that be?"

So much hope. So much trepidation. Dorothy usually enjoyed that tone of voice. "Mid week," she declared, both to him and herself. Her little vacation was nice, but reality required her presence again. "I'll be there before the second launch."

"Alright then." There was audible relief in the man's voice. Had he thought she had abandoned them completely? She wasn't that cruel. Besides, she hadn't been told that her assignment was finished yet.

"Keep them together, Director."

"I'll do my best, Lady. Thank you."

The man was trainable. Now that she'd spent some time playing nice and coaxing him along, it was almost annoying to find that she'd succeeded.

Closing her phone, she looked at Quatre and sighed at him. She probably should say something like, _"Oh, Quatre, you were right. I do need to be nicer to people."_ But instead she continued walking and mumbled, "IRIS is having issues."

"Are you sure you don't need to be there?"

No, she wasn't. But rethinking that, she allowed the haughty smirk to rise. "Are you saying that because you think I'm the only one that can handle it?" Oh would he dare admit that after their little debacle on the Satellite?

"This would be an awful time to abandon them just to prove your point."

The smirk only rose farther. "The way you said that implies that you think I'd be capable of it though."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you?" she stepped into his path and blocked his way. Backing against the guardrail, she wrapped her hands around the pipe and leaned against them to protect her skirt from the rough paint chips.

With a look of complete resignation, Quatre tucked his hands in his pockets and turned to squint out at the sparking waves behind her. "Are you?"

"Capable?"

"Proving a point," he corrected.

"Maybe."

"That didn't answer the question."

"That's the answer I have," she shrugged. "My task was to forge IRIS, not to babysit it. I'm not interested in a career in shipping services. If I allow them to work it out, they'll rely on each other." It was an honest assessment. It was probably a little early to congratulate herself for a job well done, but she had become a fixture aboard that satellite and she didn't intend to be a permanent one.

"I knew Oracle was behind you being there," he confessed softly, picking up what she had left unspoken.

That made sense. He'd figured it out and had automatically jumped to the defensive. She had known the moment Quatre mentioned the word Oracle that he wouldn't approve of many of its tactics. The idea that he had agreed to join had floated warily at the edge of her mind ever since.

Slowly he continued, "I didn't like it and it had me on guard. I just… don't want to see you being used."

Aw yes, but her dearest wasn't nearly as interested in the group as he was with what she was doing in its name. "You're always trying to protect me," she teased, but it was more truth than not.

Quatre's shoulders slumped noticeably and he nodded to himself. "And you never really need it," he sighed. "I just can't stand by very well when I'm afraid you'll get hurt." His eyes remained fixed in their blank stare at the railing in front of him.

It was such a quiet confession. For a second, Dorothy couldn't react to it. Looking away, she stood at his shoulder and blinked back the wayward feelings. "But I'm never the one that gets hurt," she retorted, adding a wry smile for good measure.

Slowly he turned to look over at her, but she closed her eyes quickly. Trying to look as serene as their surroundings, she let the wind blow past her. But her hands had locked tightly around the pipe behind her.

"You really want to believe that."

It wasn't a question, it was an accusation, albeit a mild one. She didn't want to answer to this. She could feel him, so close that he blocked the breeze over part of her body. "I'm always unscathed," she explained, opening her eyes only to focus on the sleeve of his shirt. "I have a history of always being the one left over. I make an excellent witness is all."

"Being the one still alive doesn't always make you the victor. You're too kind to be unscathed. No matter how much you want to be. In the war you hated your own kindness that couldn't just forget what you'd lost. …You hated that it hurt," he whispered with the conviction of someone who spoke with absolute understanding.

And he was right. She'd hated it. Hated even now that she couldn't refute it. Not in front of him.

"That kindness may not be needed on the battlefield." Softly he raised a hand to her face and she blinked as he gently tilted her chin up to look at him. "But you do need it the rest of the time."

What was she supposed to say to that? That she knew in a way that he was right? That she'd found that out some time ago? That she just didn't actually care? What was he trying to prove? She still had her battlefields to deal with, and IRIS was no exception.

"I understand that. Better now than I had before. So please, don't just toss me aside," he quietly pleaded.

Is that what he thought? Is that what made him abandon her on the Satellite? For a second her memory watched that door close behind him again and she felt that same claw begin to squeeze the air out of her chest.

He must have seen it because he quietly released her chin and moved instead to circle an arm around her waist. He edged her closer to him, and her body moved but her hands refused to let go of the railing. "I'm sorry I scared you by leaving," he whispered. "I don't know what I was thinking."

She couldn't come up with anything to say and instead lowered her eyes to the buttons of the polo shirt he was wearing. She hadn't even noticed until now that he'd left them undone. It almost made her smile, but she couldn't quite manage that either.

So it wasn't really her methods, or the way she was handling things. When she'd thought about it later, she'd been right. Her dearest had only wanted to be her sounding board. He was always the advocate for the cause, he'd simply wanted the reassurance that she'd share with him. The sympathetic ear that was always turned her direction. The one allowed behind closed doors with her.

The same position she always wanted to be in. Could she call that irony?

Quatre had a notorious way of muddling up her concentration, but he was also her compass. She admitted long ago that he was her foundation, what she had built this section of her life on. Whenever she went against his expectations of her she ended up in this mess of apologies and heart-to-hearts.

"It's alright," she finally whispered. Carefully she tried to make this come out right, but the words that slipped out still sounded wrong. "I just can't keep my focus with you around." No, that really didn't come out right. "I can't keep…." She trailed out as Quatre tried to bite back a chuckle.

How dare he find that funny! Looking up at him, she watched him lick his lips to try to get the smile off his face before he focused on her again. "I know that feeling rather well."

For a moment, she faltered. Why it struck her so odd to think that he had the same problem around her, she wasn't sure. After all, she often went out of her way to get him flustered and inarticulate. His blushes were victories that she prized. But… was that the same thing? Was it possible she just didn't recognize the humor in it when it happened to her?

No, that wasn't it. She wasn't reduced to babbling, or embarrassed stuttering. She didn't go flush. No she just… she just wasn't the same. She couldn't keep the facades or the games going when she knew that he saw threw them. Most of the time it didn't bother her. Quatre was a confidant, more so than anyone else had ever been in her life. She didn't mind that he saw through the charades or questioned her motives when he knew she wasn't being completely honest.

Well, usually didn't mind.

But when that carried over into her job, it had caused her to go defensive. She made her self-appointed career out of playing the game. But his very present undermined that. Derailed her thoughts and left her… vulnerable.

He always saw the truth in her. She'd slowly begun to give up trying to be anything but honest when he was around. It didn't do her any good otherwise. And now… now she couldn't. She'd lost the ability put up a front, or bluff, or lie, or even just keep him in the dark if he pressed her.

It was different with him. She was different with him. She didn't have any other choice. She honestly couldn't deny him. Since he'd found out about Oracle, she actually didn't have any secrets left.

Dorothy shivered as the wind blew around them. For the first time she felt stripped bare. She felt defenseless. She felt… scared.

No, she felt angry. Dorothy Catalonia did not do scared. Not inside her own head.

But it was anger directed at herself for allowing this to happen. Allowing him in so close that she couldn't deny him whatever truth he wanted. Allowed…. She hadn't allowed anything.

The anger she so desperately wanted to feel well up and replace this tight grip on her chest just wouldn't come. Involuntarily she shivered, the wind seemingly whipping straight through her.

Quatre must have noticed. Gently he shifted closer, sheltering her from the wind. Dorothy's hands still didn't unclench from their grip on the railing. For some reason they wouldn't let go and return his touch.

She didn't see his other hand move, but she left it lightly touch one of hers. She didn't move as she stared at the buttons of his shirt. She was confused, frustrated, annoyed. She'd lost the identity that she'd spent so many years developing for herself. She'd worked so hard at it. And he just waltzed in and unraveled it.

What a jerk!

Snapping her head up, she looked him in the eye, only then realizing that he'd been coaxingly trying to peel her fingers from their dead grip on the rail. He blinked at her a second, but she couldn't form the words again.

What did she really expect to do about it?

Oh hell.

Quatre looked at her confused. "What?"

Did she say that out loud? "Uh…." She shook her head and tried to come up with some sort of dignified response. "Never mind," she sighed, and lowered her eyes again. Well, that didn't work.

With a good tug, he managed to get her hands to dislodge and he pulled her in the last inch between them. "Precious, are you alright?"

For a second she didn't catch it, but then she giggled before she realized what was funny. Precious. And again she giggled at it, her hands finally working up to wrap around his shoulders.

Precious. Was there a word any less fitting for her than that?

Before she knew it, she was hugging him tightly and laughing in his ear.

* * *

"We dance round in a ring and suppose,  
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows."  
~Robert Frost, _In the Clearing_

"To him that you tell your secret you resign your liberty." – Anonymous


	63. Chapter 63

AN: No, sorry, this is not, in fact, a new chapter. Once I reviewed things, I realized that the original chapter 62 was twice as long as everything else, so I chopped it into two pieces. For anyone who has already read the original posting of chapter 62 (which included this chapter 63), please continue to 64. Thank you.

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 63

"You know, Precious was Andrew's cat."

"That figures." Poor Quatre couldn't win.

The two had moved on again and found a market area laid out and filled with trinket shops and cafes near the shore line. Dorothy's brochure had toted it as a must see, but it was rather slow at the moment. After wandering idly through the square, the two lounged for drinks as the afternoon began to cool.

"Is that why you find it so funny?" he sullenly questioned.

"No," she sighed as she sipped at her cappuccino. "I just remembered that."

"Would you prefer I tried something else?"

"Actually it would have been his mother's cat. I think they went through three," she mused.

"You get away with it all the time, but I come up with an honest little term of endearment and I get laughed at."

"Lady Olivia loved Persians."

"Wait until you call me 'dearest' again."

"Oh stop pouting," she finally acknowledged him. "It just strikes me funny."

"Fine," he sighed at his tea cup.

Her dear Quatre, he did deserve better. "It's completely inappropriate."

"How is that more inappropriate than Darling, or Love?"

"Inappropriate to me. I'm anything but precious."

"That's not true. Sweetheart would be completely inappropriate to you," he snipped.

Dorothy laughed despite her best efforts to stay mocking.

Somewhere in the midst of whispering about ugly socks at a display down the street, she had discovered that her feelings were honest, but slow on the uptake. She was right, through their time together she had given up something of her identity. Sacrificed it for… well, for him. Dorothy figured she couldn't say it was wasted, or that she didn't get a return on her emotional investment. But she hadn't realized the extent of her own change. She was different with him, and only him.

She wasn't sure why she didn't think that was normal. It seemed logical, it just felt… weird.

Quatre seemed to understand all of this without a single qualm. And now that she looked for it, he was different around her too. The simple way he touched her, took her arm, put a guiding hand on her back, was careless. Easy. His rigid politeness, and appeasing attitude completely relaxed. She'd noticed it before, but she was beginning to read so much more into that now.

But it obviously didn't bother him. As usual, it seemed he was a little more in tune with his feelings. Also as usual, this didn't seem to be anything new to him.

But she was looking for that difference in him now, needing to see it. If she had changed, then she wanted absolute proof that it wasn't just her. She had unthinkingly poured herself out until she sat here still feeling rather empty inside.

And Quatre was the one still keeping secrets. That was the nagging itch that she couldn't get rid of. The revelation that it was one sided was making her self-conscious, and it annoyed her.

"When did you stop calling me Miss?" she ventured.

He blinked, the question obviously catching him off guard. "Um…." Pausing, he thoughtfully considered that. "Somewhere during the installation phase of the colony project, I think."

That was a very long time ago. "It was a little hit and miss then, wasn't it?" she added, trying to remember when the politeness poster child had dropped the titles with her. Had it been that long?

He still called Relena, Miss. Of course, more often than not, so did she. Miss Hilde, Miss Catherine, although he did sometimes get short with her under duress. It was Mrs. Shanelle, Miss Emalia, and so on. His housekeeper/cook was Mrs. Any lady he randomly held the door for was Miss. …Leilalie was Miss.

"I don't think I really gave it up until after the Beneficiaries' Dinner."

Aw, and after their little candlelight kissy. How romantic. Poor sap. "So you have to let someone kiss you before you're familiar enough to just use her first name?"

He gave her a mild scowl over his cup before he set it aside. "No, Jesimae asked me to stop using it _before_ she kissed me."

Oh he was in rare form today. "I see."

"So if Precious was the cat, what did Andrew call you?"

Raising an eyebrow at the odd question, she shrugged. "The closest he got to a term of affection was General."

"Well I guess I can avoid that," he mumbled, watching the sparse crowd wander about.

There was that delicious little rivalry that popped up from time to time. She could see it in the set of his jaw as he pointedly found something else to look at. "What is it about Andrew that threatens you?"

"What? Nothing," he started.

Dorothy folded her hands together and propped her chin up as she leaned over the tiny table towards him. "I think there's a bit of jealousy there." Quatre may be her confidant and personal repair kit, but she had her suspicious that he didn't appreciate that that position, in a much lesser form, had existed before him.

For a second he seemed stunned, and then he picked up his cup again to divert his eyes. "I think you want there to be."

Curiously, she smirked and waited for him to take a drink and lower the cup again. "Why's that?"

Crossing his arms on the table, he leaned in as well. "Because then you wouldn't be alone in it."

That rang entirely too true right at the moment, but she didn't move. Alone in what? In the jealousy department? "You think I'm jealous? Of Jesimae?" she questioned, tracking the line of thought. With a merry little snicker, she sat back and picked up her cup again. "Jealousy doesn't look good on me, Darling."

"Yes, it does."

She managed to swallow before she looked back at the impish little brat.

With a comic smile, he just shrugged. "And I'm going to pay for saying that."

Yes he was. "What gave you that idea?"

"That I'm going to pay?"

"That I was jealous."

"That little kiss on the bridge wasn't very subtle."

"Kisses usually aren't."

"You try to say they are."

"Not with you."

"And that's how I knew."

Raising an eyebrow, Dorothy watched him for a moment. "That didn't make any sense."

Leaning back in his chair again, Quatre was looking entirely too comfortable for her taste. "You weren't being friendly. It wasn't an 'it'll be alright' peck. 'The wrong woman.' That was a purposeful challenge."

And with an evil little giggle, she decided she might as well admit to that. "Maybe you're right." Lifting her cup again, she blew on it to part the foam and let it cool a bit more. "You only have room in your life for one bad influence. I've told you I intend to keep that position. Being usurped by the likes of Jesimae Nickels would be an insult."

"Well, in that way of thinking, I suppose I want to defend my position too."

"Which is?" she bit curiously.

"Your self-appointed white knight," he smirked.

Dorothy didn't figure she should refute that. Holding up her cup, she narrowed her eyes at the devious little creature. "Cheers."

* * *

"We're planning a champagne toast for the landing."

Director Huberts rubbed his dry eyes and pretended that the pills he took were actually helping his headache. "Wrong crowd."

"You don't think they'd like it?"

"Just slip them a case of scotch."

"That doesn't seem very festive."

"This landing isn't going to be festive."

* * *

"She's dead."

Dorothy started, putting her fork down again. "Who's dead?"

Quatre stopped as well, his glass halfway to his lips as he exchanged a worried glance with her.

"Widow Casadona," Davonte's reply came through the phone.

Breathing a mild sigh of relief, she shook her head. "So the Black Widow is finally resting with her husbands?"

"We just thought she was exhausted from planning the tea party. You were right," he sighed, "dreadfully boring. Bunch of crusty, old women talking about their hats. And her rose garden was anything but. Only had three varieties in the whole area. Nothing worse than monotonous shrubbery," he mused.

Dorothy crinkled her brow. "Are you being literal or figurative," she attempted to clarify. Von did have a knack for blurring the two.

"About Casadona or the shrubbery?"

"Lady Casadona."

"Oh no, quite literal. Keeled over with a crumpet still in hand. Took twenty minutes for anyone to notice," he wearily explained.

She shook her head at his attitude and looked over at Quatre who was still trying to follow her half of the conversation. She made a cutting motion across her throat, and he got the point, simply returning a mildly remorseful expression. "That's awful," she wrote it off. She wasn't well acquainted with the woman personally, there wasn't much else for her to say.

"Well, she always liked to put on a spectacle."

"What happened?" she asked, mildly interested, as she picked up her fork again.

"We called an ambulance when her butler couldn't rouse her. Then we got to sit and talk to the police for an hour. Good of her servers to keep us in petits fours like they did," he added.

"I suppose I should pay my respects when I get back," she mumbled, debating when to fit that in to her schedule.

"And what about me?" the voice on the line suddenly turned indignant.

"What about you?" she blinked, taking a bite of her dinner.

"Shouldn't you be asking if I'm alright or something equally sappy? We were practically an item."

"Oh, of course," she nearly snickered. "How are you taking this tragedy, Von?"

"I'm crushed! Absolutely beside myself. I've invested years courting her affections, and just when she begins to show interest she has the nerve to die on me."

Dorothy tried to stifle her laughter, remembering that the woman in question really was deceased. Poor woman, God rest her soul. "There, there, dear. Perhaps she left you something nice in her will," she suggested.

"…Do you think so?" he sullenly asked.

"The woman loved a spectacle," she reminded him. It would certainly be one if a random artist that she was known to consort with ended up with the family heirloom silver. Lady Casadona would be one to enjoy the endless gossip that would fly about that.

"I suppose I could be consoled with some trinket from her estate."

Good to know he wasn't too distraught. "Perhaps you'll get your painting of her first husband back," she teased.

"What good would that do me?"

"You said a trinket."

"I meant a pawn-able trinket."

"Davonte!" she acted aghast.

"I'm telling you it was a very dull tea." As though that entitled him to something of the dead woman's estate.

"Aside from the death, of course," she reminded him.

"No, even that was anticlimactic. There was no drama. No hand clutched to the chest, no resonating scream, no theatrical monolog, not even a last breathed moan. She just nodded off in her chair while listening to the group go on about which pastry went best with orange tea."

Getting herself another bite, Dorothy sighed. "I don't think you're looking at this quite right, darling."

"No, I suppose not. Back to my original point of calling then. What sort of tie do I wear for the funeral, love?"

* * *

"How would you like to die?"

The two walked along, a couple shopping bags in hand as they wound slowly back to the hotel. "Preferably in the distant future," Quatre stated, giving her an odd look.

"I wasn't offering you the opportunity," Dorothy snickered. "Just making small talk."

"And how would you like to die?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't really have an answer. That was a rather morbid thing to discuss, wasn't it?

She hummed a moment, pausing to look into another shop window. Once the sun set the shops again opened for business and people descended on the port area. The walk back to the hotel was quieter but by no means lonely. "I'm a blaze of glory sort," she shrugged and continued on. "I'd like a flashy ending."

Forever the General of her imaginary battlefields. "Can it be a very postponed flash? I've gotten used to you," he chuckled as he followed her along as they once again continued down the narrow little streets.

Dorothy twirled around to walk backwards in front of him, her eyes narrowing. "Entirely too used to me, it seems." Spinning back around, the skirt of her sundress flared and twisted, her hair wafting after her. "I think I'm losing my touch."

Quatre was enjoying this little game, and he was slowly getting better at it. At least he thought he was. Dorothy had been caught a little off guard by his subtle change in character, but she was adapting to it the same as he was. Enjoying the game.

He'd stolen her tactics and was really beginning to see why she loved teasing him so much.

He may live to regret this trip, but so far this was perfect. Sensing that touch of jealousy was just the beginning. Dear Dorothy had startled herself this afternoon. Having to pry her hands from the pipe to get her to return his hug had worried him, but as usual she'd snapped out it again.

His beloved was still coming to terms with herself and her feelings. And he didn't mind the thought of patiently prying each one of her fingers out of their death grip hold. To be honest, he wasn't sure what she was hanging on to. The status quo? Their relationship as she knew it now?

Quatre couldn't blame her for that. It had taken a while for him to decide if he really wanted to pursue anything more either. What they had was not typical of anything. They weren't purely friends, and they weren't actually dating. There was a fuzzy line that they kept dancing around.

But for once he had hope. Real, honest hope where before he'd only had ardent wishes. And he was surprisingly alright with that. There was still a twinge of fear at what might happen if things got serious and then went wrong. It wasn't a pleasant thought and he tried not to think about it.

At the moment, he was more interested in trying to figure out how to finally tip that balance. If he could just push, pull or drag her a little further, he figured something would present itself. Something would finally unfold and it would just happen.

Quatre had all sorts of high hopes for that now. He was just sort of waiting for it. Happily he looked up at the heights of the passing buildings and tried to imagine a falling piano. Then he could sweep her out of the way, just in time, and—

Walking straight into a wall of blond hair, he stumbled a moment as the sudden wind from the corner of the intersection whipped past them. Not paying attention he hadn't noticed Dorothy stop, and hadn't notice that the curb dropped off sharply inches away from his feet. One hair-blinded step and his right foot missed the sidewalk and landed awkwardly several inches below.

As if in slow motion, he heard more than felt the pop of his ankle and reached out for anything to stop himself from tumbling into the street. A handful of hair was all he caught, but thankfully he still had enough time to correct his movements. He landed with one knee on the ground and a squished shopping bag.

"Quatre?"

"I'm alright," he mumbled before squeezing his eyes shut a second as he rose to his feet. "Mostly," he amended.

"What did you do?"

The sharp pain was centered just below his ankle. After a second he was sure nothing was really wrong, just a bruise probably. "I'm fine," he repeated as Dorothy attached herself to his side, helping him lean on her.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes, it's alright." Since she was already there, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tried to give her a smile.

With a small sigh, she began to drag him along the last couple blocks to their hotel. "Reflexes like that and you survived a war?" she chuckled.

Why did these things always happen to him?

* * *

"You have the worst trouble getting hurt on our outings."

"This time I blame your hair," Quatre grumbled, kicking off his shoes.

"My hair did not throw you into the street."

Dorothy was rummaging around her hotel room, and he was basically ignoring her. Slouching his sock down, he gave his ankle a quick check. A little red, mild swelling, nothing to worry about. "I didn't fall _into_ the street," he defended himself. "I was stumbling blindly and missed the curb."

"You were daydreaming and fell over."

"I was not," he snapped, looking up to see Dorothy drop down to the floor in front of him.

With a giggle, she shrugged and handed him a small bag of ice. It was a makeshift ice pack made from a plastic bag she must have bought something in today. "Really, I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt." Dorothy simply offered the bag a little more insistently this time and he sighed and took it. If she hadn't gone to all the work to make it, he wouldn't have humored her.

Putting the thing on his ankle, he leaned back against the couch behind him. The studio style rooms that she'd gotten for them were far more than they needed. But as usual Dorothy's extravagance was a moot point.

"You know you never take care of yourself."

"No, you think I never take care of myself," he corrected.

"Same thing," she mumbled as she turned and crawled back a few steps. Pushing the sliding balcony doors half shut, she cut down on the cool night breeze coming in. Considering she was in a dress, he averted his eyes for a second, but she popped back to a modest sitting position and snickered at him.

"What?"

"I've made an entire freelance career out of showing a little leg and you're abashed about the back of my knees."

There was a knowing glitter to her eyes that he was decidedly afraid of. Swallowing unconsciously, he made a production of adjusting the ice pack. "I'm just being gentlemanly." How else was he supposed to respond to that? And how was this his fault? "Would you prefer I ogled?"

The bout of high pitched cackling probably woke half of the hotel, and Quatre nearly kicked himself for even saying that. As it was he hung his head, hoping to keep from blushing.

"Yes, I would," she merrily confessed. "And I want to catch you in act. I've often wondered just what you do think of me Master Winner."

"I think your enormous ego is safe no matter what I think," he grumbled.

"Oh but there's a difference."

"Meaning?" he dared to look up at her.

"It would mean so much more coming from you."

The evil grin she had would have been demonic if she wasn't batting her eyelashes. Quatre couldn't help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation. "Miss Dorothy, I assure you, I find you as physically attractive as any other man."

Apparently that wasn't really what she wanted to hear though and let her smile slip with a sigh. "Well thank you," she said anyway, purposefully looking disheartened.

Well, maybe he should indulge her a little. Swallowing down the knot in his throat, he forced a smile back up. "You just want to hear me say that you're beautiful, don't you?"

"Only if you believe it," she mumbled, innocently picking at her fingernails in her lap.

Oh that did it. "Can we move now?"

"That didn't sound very sincere."

"That's all you get," he waved it off. Figuring his hand was colder than his ankle by now, he removed the pack and set it aside where it wouldn't make a puddle on the floor.

"Some days I do actually spot a hormone in you."

"Some days I have more than one," he returned.

"No wonder you have poor girls trying to kiss you. How else is someone supposed to get your attention?"

In a way that was almost true. Comically considering it, he shrugged. "Running a foil through me didn't hurt your chances."

She gaped at him a second and he almost had time to try to blunderingly take that back. But before he could, she changed to a thoughtful expression. "Our relationship is actually very sad."

With a laugh, he had to wonder if that wasn't an understatement. He laid his head back, resting it against the couch's seat cushions. "We could have had a better start," he agreed.

"Of course, that was the allure, wasn't it? The lost cause that I was? That's why you were checking up on me afterwards."

Blinking, he looked back at her. "You still feel like you're a hobby to me, don't you?" he called her on it. The little jigsaw puzzle that he worked on whenever the mood struck. He'd wondered if that was the way she saw herself, but after this long, she should know he was the one that needed more patching than she ever would.

"Oh not exactly," she waved it off. "I just remember sitting there after you left and thinking, 'what the hell do you care?' I suppose that just shows I didn't know you very well."

That wasn't exactly it. Yes, he'd been concerned. And although at the time he had assumed that she was simply a girl who'd been bathed in Romafeller ideals so long that she just couldn't see reason, he'd been wrong. In her speech, she'd touched a nerve. "I've told you that there was something in you that I recognized."

"We're not that similar," she brushed it aside, lounging back against the doors behind her. "You talked about kindness not being necessary, but you kept yours. Through your battles you remained pure. I gave in to my grief," she shrugged in simple resignation.

All feeling bled out of him as he watched her. For a long moment he couldn't say a word. She really believed that. Had no reason not to believe that.

"_What secrets do you still hide from me, love?"_

The line echoed painfully in his head. How many times had this come up, and how many times had he swallowed down the truth and refused to tell her?

"_I won't deny you."_ He couldn't honestly say the same, could he?

"Quatre?"

"_What secrets do you still hide from me, love?"_

He closed his eyes against the voice and Dorothy must have seen the reaction. His thoughts separated into what to do. His heart nagged at him like never before to be honest with her, but he didn't know if he could open his mouth.

"Quatre?"

Too late.

"That's not true," he whispered, opening his eyes again to stare at the carpet between them.

She was poised to crawl towards him, but stopped, apparently sensing that something was wrong. "What's not?"

Closing his eyes again, he couldn't bare to see her while he said this. "I've tried to tell you this so many times before, but I've never been able to." His words stayed steady, and his thoughts quieted. There was nothing left to do but go on. "Dorothy, there's nothing pure about me. I understood what you went through because I did the same thing. I wanted to destroy everything. Every weapon. Everything that armed itself. Anything violent. I wanted to silence everything and force peace. I… did far worse than you did."

"That's not what you fought for at all," she interjected.

Leaving himself to the fate he'd been trying to avoid for so long, he had the nerve to look up at her. Remorsefully, he quietly confessed, "I built Wing ZERO. When my father was killed, I built it… and I used it."

She sat back again to listen, an expression of complete confusion written on her face.

"I destroyed the resource satellite that OZ was using to arm the L4 colonies. With it, the entire military outpost," he closed his eyes again and turned away. "The first time the ZERO system kicked in, I had no idea what it was. You've felt that. That onslaught of information, the perspective change, that awakening. For me…. It fueled me. Everything became my enemy. The colonies had turned against us when we'd been fighting to spare them. All of space had gone insane. And I…" he choked and swallowed, "I was going to silence them all. I'd never let them forget what they'd done."

He stopped, reliving the single piece of his life that he still did not want to come to terms with. The piece of himself that made him afraid. Afraid of what he had been at that time. Afraid of what he was been capable of. And afraid of wondering if he could ever be forgiven for it.

"It seemed perfectly logical to move on the colonies that had armed themselves. If I couldn't save them, then I would erase them. I would make peace. I… tried." Painfully, he shook his head and slowly continued, "I issued a warning to colony 06E3. It was deserted except for the troops gathered to defend it. It was just the colony itself that was my enemy, not the civilians. But I… destroyed it without a second thought. It all seemed to make so much sense."

His desire to make the colonies pay for what they did to his father had fueled the ZERO system. The armaments had been the catalyst, and the only peaceful outcome that ZERO came to was to destroy it all. Instead of challenging that, instead of forcing ZERO to plot a different outcome, he'd let himself believe it. He would have made space silent if he'd kept going.

If he hadn't had Trowa.

"I issued my next target, and Trowa and Heero were forced to try to defend it. I told them to stay away from me. I told them to leave or I'd have to kill them too." Raising his knees, he propped up his arms and clutched his head in his hands. He didn't want to see this again. He didn't want to feel it again. "ZERO was so cold, so perfectly logical. My emotions were analyzed and then brushed aside. Trowa… Trowa tried talking to me. Heero tried yelling at me. I fired on him but Trowa threw himself in the way. His suit was damaged, and he maneuvered away from the colony to protect it from the blast. The whole time he just kept trying to talk me back."

His breath stuttered and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I finally saw what I was really doing, but it was too late. I tried to go after Trowa but Heero was determined to stop me. Trowa's suit blew up, Heero was injured, ZERO was damaged, and I was…." He didn't know. He'd never had to put words to it before. It was just….

Just pain. Just remorse. Just terror.

"I thought I'd killed him," he summed up in a whisper. "I'd lost my mind and his sacrifice was all that brought me back."

Dorothy sat, wide-eyed, staring at the man in front of her.

She knew what he was talking about; she knew of the colony that was destroyed during the first glimpse of the new Gundam dubbed Wing ZERO. Her information was the best that Romafeller had to offer her at that point. But the news from the Colonies was never the best, and with the problems between OZ and Lady Une's new grip on the public media, confirming information was tricky.

Her assumption had been that one of the scientists behind the creation of the Gundams had created the new suit. The behavior of the pilot was unlike anything they had seen before, and assumptions were that it was someone new, or perhaps the scientist himself.

The suit had been confirmed as having switched hands so many times that it was almost impossible to keep track of the thing until Heero finally ended up with it on _Peacemillion_. The idea that Quatre had been the one behind, not only the construction of the suit and the first use of the infamous ZERO system, but that he had been the one to… wipe a colony out of existence….

If anyone else had ever dared to try to tell her that this was true, she would have scoffed at them as spreading evil rumors. She would have never, ever, believed such a thing. She didn't want to now.

Never before had she ever been afraid of what he… was capable of. She'd never been afraid of any of them. They were soldiers, their motives focused and the tactics surgical and precise. They were never unstoppable or crazed. Least of all her dearest Quatre.

The story stilled her in place, not knowing what to do. He wouldn't look at her, his head was bowed and sitting like a stone. She watched him, only finally noting that he was still lost in his own thoughts, still plagued by what he had just confessed. Focusing on him, she finally blinked when she noticed that his hand was trembling. No, his arms. Actually, all of him.

He was in pain.

The thought finally jarred her, twisting at her guts. Slowly she moved, leaning forward until she raised herself on all fours, crawling towards him, cautious against any sudden movements. Coming up beside him he finally noticed her and snapped his head up to meet her eyes.

She was sure he saw shock in her, disbelief, probably confusion, and more than a little worry. But what she saw in those clear, ocean blues was fear. Terror. Her breath caught as they stared at each other for a moment.

A tremor passed through him and he turned away, squeeze his eyes shut against her. And she froze, completely at a loss for what to do, or even what to feel. Her mind kept stalling over the thought of him being scared. Scared of what happened? Scared of saying this?

Scared of telling her? Admitting to it? What she would think of it? Of him?

He was terrified. And as she continued to watch him she saw the tears collect in his closed lashes but they wouldn't fall. He was fighting so hard, and it wasn't right. It didn't make sense, but she knew it just wasn't right.

She sat on the floor close beside him and worked her courage to reach out to him. Gently she placed a hand on his shoulder and felt him start as though shot. Snapping back to look at her she tried not to show the fears that clouded her emotions at his response to her.

He blinked the two tears out of his lashes and they trailed down his cheeks. Raising a hand she stopped and started the movement two or three times before her touch finally met his face. She didn't dare wipe those tears away.

She felt the shudder run through him again and pushed herself to really reach out for him. She slipped both hands from their resting spots and moved her arms to encircle his shoulders. Slowly he moved in, breaking his frightened eye contact and turning in towards her.

Dorothy felt his arms move around her, feeling so distant, the strength that she knew so well was gone. He barely touched her, his embrace ghostly weak, but he buried his face into her shoulder, slouching against her. And she could only return a soft touch of her own.

She held him, and for the first time realized what she held. Somewhere in the depths of this beautiful soul was a black spot. A burnt hole with charred edges.

She understood without words what it all meant to him. That fire that she sometimes saw in him, that she loved in him, now scared her. Knowing that fire had blazed unrestrained and out of control meant it had melted his mind and enveloped his heart. It was terrifying.

She'd always known that he was different. Starting from their duel she had known, but had never understood. He was the passion fighter, the one who left safety and security because of a singular drive to protect what he loved. He was stronger than the others. He'd made a choice to fight when all the rest felt they could do nothing else, knew nothing else. Their tragedies had already come, had already shaped them.

Quatre had yet to live through his.

And in one instant what he had fought and suffered for, all the things he had done that ate at his kind nature, all became worthless. The terrible evil of witnessing what he had fought to protect die had….

She should have known. She should have understood all along that this dark stain was in him. How could he have understood her pain, her refusal to accept her own kindness, her absolute desire to rid the world of everything but the bare minimum of survival in order to destroy the horrors of this kind of pain… if he hadn't known it himself?

Known it? No, had fallen to it. The man in her arms had embraced it. Had been overcome by that burning passion in him.

What had once been pure, innocent desire to protect had turned torturous. Pain had turned her sweet noble into someone demonic.

She should have known. She had even accused him in that duel of not creating a proper war. Of not showing the people something so horrible that they would never want for it again. Now, she understood why he fought as himself. Why he'd chosen the losing battles. Why he never used the full power he possessed.

He had lost his soul to it once.

Her gentle, kind Quatre….

He lay against her, his body still trembling, his face on her shoulder, and his arms slack around her. Only one hand gripped the back of her shirt tightly, tugging at a couple locks of her hair.

She could feel it. She could feel the anguish, the torment, coming off of him in waves. She could feel him cry, even though he was holding back. Holding in.

It was frightening, terrifying really, to think of just how much he did hold in. If he weren't as calculated as he was, if he wasn't the strategist that he was, she was sure that there wouldn't be only one burnt scar on him. But thankfully he was.

And so was she.

That strength, that passion, and that fire was the drive in him that she had always been drawn to. Yes, it was more than she expected. Much more than she was prepared for. But to believe that it was more than she could handle would be to call herself a hypocrite. Ablaze and out of control she had no doubt that she would be able to do nothing in the wake of it, but this….

This wasn't that time. This was only the ash left behind.

This was only the fear of being feared.

He didn't need her forgiveness or her pity. He needed her to return that dear kindness he had always given to her. He needed to know that she could embrace that darkness in him along with the rest.

Gently she shifted, wrapping her arms tighter around him and then leaned herself back against the couch, scooting him with her. She heard the stuttered gasp and leaned back a little farther, forcing his body to lean against hers. Wrapping one arm tighter around his back she raised a hand to run over his hair and neck, the gentle touch forcing his face to rest low against her shoulder.

His arms finally found their way fully around her, timid at first, but as she slowly riffled her fingers through his hair they tightened fiercely, solidly keeping her. She felt him swallow and then gasp again. And again she moved her hand as she turned her face to nuzzle against him. Finally she placed a lingering kiss on his temple, moving both arms to hug him tightly to her.

The trembling slowly subsided as the tears finally ran, his breathing quieting. There was nothing that she could say and she knew that if she tried he wouldn't want the words. Instead, she sat and she held him, letting him know that she was right here.

His pain was hers tonight. His trust in her was hers as well. She would not abandon someone on this same battlefield.

He was hers to protect.

Closing her eyes she tried to keep her breathing steady, knowing that he could feel the rise and fall of her chest. It was hard once she noticed the escaped tears that crept slowly down her cheeks.

* * *

"A heart is a fragile thing, that's why we protect them so vigorously, give them away so rarely, and why it means so much when we do. Some hearts are more fragile then others, purer somehow. Like crystal in a world of glass. Even the way they shatter is beautiful." - John E. Pogue

AN: I am so, so sorry! Life as I know it has become far more… complicated. But in a good way. Osiris and I (get it?) have welcomed our first little one. My baby girl is 8 months old now and the cutest baby EVER! I might be slightly biased though. Aside from that, this chapter is seriously long and took way more time than I thought. But it's all worth it for you poor neglected readers! I really am very sorry for the delay, but never fear, new chapters will still keep trickling out.

Lots of thank you's this time! HUGE thanks to Kei, who has given me more inspiration than I even know what to do with. If there was a medal for brilliant fandom above and beyond the call of duty, it would be yours!

My thanks to Tsuba, my native French speaking reader (so cool), who informed me that "Chateau du Brume Gris" is the wrong form and should be "Chateau de la Brume Gris". That will be fixed in all future chapters and in the revisions (which I've been posting, yea!) And if I've got stuff wrong in here, I'd appreciate someone letting me know.

My most heartfelt gratitude to my faithful readers who have checked to see if I got hit by a bus or something. And also a big, wonderful welcome to readers who have caught up with these stories now and are also waiting for the updates. Thank you all SO much for sticking with this. Special thank you to Orieon, whose PM I printed and hung up so that I could keep focused on getting this new chapter out. All of you wonderful people are the best, and I love you all! -Isis


	64. Chapter 64

AN: Again my sincere apologies for a late update. I know many of you checked to see if there was a Christmas present waiting here for you and were disappointed. Due to some computer (and time management) issues, I wasn't able to get this posted in time. But here I am to ring in the New Year with a new chapter! A belated Merry Christmas to my wonderful readers, and God bless you and yours!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 64

Darkness can be frightening. In the dark there are unknowns. Secrets that torment the imagination. Often times the imaginings a re worse, but sometimes, the dark should keep its secrets.

Dorothy Catalonia lay in the dark, counting secrets.

Her birthright entitled her to some of them. Others she had collected through her own wiles. Some came second hand. A few came with a price.

Many she harbored simply for the sake of knowing. But some she prized like treasures, loving them for their rarity. She kept these proudly, close and tender. Those were what made her smirk in times of trial, why she looked down her nose at those who thought themselves superior, why she protected so many and respected so few.

Dorothy was a collector of secrets. Much the way a spider collects flies. She simply weaved her webs in all the right places, and they came to her. Devouring them was necessary, nourishing, stimulating. Rarely she found one she couldn't digest.

Poetic allusions were safer than the simple truth.

Light spilled into the dark room through the windows and balcony door, making a row of squares and rectangles on the carpet. But the bed was shrouded in shadow, and Dorothy lay on the navy coverlet like a pale stain. She hadn't bothered changing for bed, or even crawling under the covers. Quietly she lay, unsure of even the passage of time as the squares remained absolute still.

She didn't know what to think, so she didn't. Mentally she felt like those squares of carpet, trapped under an unwavering spotlight and unable to turn away.

Finally in response, she purposefully closed her eyes and turned her head to face the other way and into the simple darkness. This wasn't helping.

She wasn't sure where to start. She had a huge collection of questions that she didn't know how to ask. Didn't know if she wanted to ask. Actually, didn't know if she could ask.

It had hurt him to tell her what he had. Could she really ask for a clarified copy of the story? No, not right now. Right now she couldn't even imagine pressing him for more. How could she?

It had hurt. It had scared him.

Quatre Raberba Winner. The kind noble. That kindness had driven him to defy his family and his name in order to protect and defend them. So determined, so passionate, she could see now why the ZERO system had devoured him at first. In the state he'd been in, under the ravages of revenge, ZERO would have sensed the indecisiveness of what he really wanted to do, and finally funneled that into a cold rage and calculated an acceptable outcome: Silence.

She understood what he meant. She had felt the cold logic wrap around her like a cloak in the mobile doll control room of _Libra_. She remembered the shiver of excitement that ran down her back. Her perspective had widened to inhuman levels, the realm of possibilities that she could see was god-like. But she had been calm, calculated in what she wanted to do.

Dorothy had not had to face the system indecisive. With no clear enemy, she could understand how it would drive someone mad.

ZERO was a tool that could only be welded by the most resolute fighter, with clear purpose and objective. If she had this correct, Quatre had built it without understanding that. Even with the limited knowledge that she had of the system, she understood how it warped when the enemy was lost. When the directive failed.

She'd forced it to recognize Quatre as her partner in battle when he had entered that control room, but it had taken an effort. It discerned from her the need to end the war, the desire to bloody everyone, and the rage that her plans were all crumbling into fruitlessness. The system wouldn't let go of her varying thoughts, and even as she moved her blade against her enemy, it wouldn't stop showing her an infinite number of outcomes based on Quatre's words.

It had stopped when she had nothing left to fight. Once Quatre passed out, her mind had silenced and so had ZERO. There was no more to show her, no more left for her to do, no more left to even care about.

Dorothy couldn't remember what its final visions had been. When Quatre entered, she'd thought that it would show her her own demise. She'd expected that. But of course… it was Quatre.

He'd talked her out of it.

And then the word came that Treise was dead, and everything crumbled into meaningless dust. It was all for nothing. That was what she'd believed. Nothing she could do would change humanity at all.

She would have sat there believing that until _Libra_ fell around her if it hadn't been for Quatre and Trowa. It had still taken her several months, standing in front of Triese's grave, to decide that she really was capable of changing things still.

ZERO had been wrong. There was simply no accounting for the possibilities of humanity, no matter how many outcomes you looked through.

But how had he built it? Quatre apparently didn't understand what the system would do to him when he'd climbed in. Where had it come from? Treise had uncovered it as well when he commissioned Epiyon. It must have come from somewhere else.

And where had the design for Wing ZERO come from? It wasn't even close to Sandrock, Quatre's beloved. Why would he have built another, completely unknown model? He must have known it from somewhere. _"I built it… and I used it."_ That was all he'd said.

Again, her thoughts swirled. Pieces that she hadn't realized were out of place, rearranged themselves. In that battle, with the dolls under her control, she had known that one of them was also using the system to counter her. All logic pointed ultimately to Quatre, the one team player amongst them. Cooperation and group strategy were not the strong suits of any other Gundam pilot.

She'd wondered why he had the system, but had never thought to ask in the years since. In truth, she knew she had an advantage in that fight. No matter how many directions her consciousness was torn into, Dorothy did not have to split her attention between ZERO, and the physical world around her. She held no fear for her safety while piloting the dolls, and had no need to physically counter anything.

And yet, she'd still lost. That was what pissed her off.

Once she began to see the acceptable outcomes fade away from her perspective she became frustrated, and then frantic. With her mental direction wavering, ZERO had ravaged her mind for other acceptable outcomes and had starting throwing images and choices at her from all over the board. When she couldn't take it any longer, she chose the dominate image and tore the helmet off her head, commanding that they fire the main weapon. It was a long shot even ZERO had left on the fringes of outcomes.

But she knew. Dorothy knew the madness that lay just at the edge of that type of power. Knew how quickly it unraveled.

She supposed… she knew what happened to him.

Dear Quatre, driven by revenge on an enemy that he couldn't name, went mad when none of the perspectives, none of the outcomes, nothing actually resolved what he was feeling. ZERO couldn't bring his father back. Silencing the Colonies became an obscure overreaction to a problem he couldn't fix.

"_I'd lost my mind and his sacrifice was all that brought me back."_ Trowa. Just like Quatre had tried to do for her, Trowa had talked him back. The quiet man seemed good at that.

Slowly, Dorothy sat up and let her legs dangle off the bed. So, Trowa had saved him, but had been injured, or something, doing it. She supposed that must be it. If his suit was destroyed, she didn't imagine he came through easily. And Quatre had said it with such remorse that she was well aware that something had gone terribly wrong. Again, it was a question that she couldn't ask.

The other question firmly planted in her mind was why she didn't know any of this. How did all of this manage to slip by unnoticed? Lady Une was firmly established in space by then. Yes, her role was divided between sweet political figure, and military commander, and the poor woman was shot and left for dead around that time period too, but that was no excuse for not filing proper reports.

A splash of color on the carpet drew her attention to the squares of light again. Another colored square appeared and dissipated quickly. Red, then green, a gray, and then red.

Rising, she slipped silently to the balcony door and looked out. Fireworks popped overhead in showers of color. Another hotel or something was putting on a display tonight. She wasn't sure why, but it didn't seem to matter.

Sliding the door open, she stepped out onto the small balcony and let the chilly night air assault her. The fireworks were short lived though and ended almost as soon as they began. For a while she watched the slightly darker clouds of smoke move away across the sky, carried on the wind. Just the ashes left over after the explosion….

Just the ashes.

Turning to look to her side, she watched the balcony of Quatre's room beside hers. It was empty and the door shut. There was no light on inside his room either.

Just like her, was he keeping his secret in the dark?

"_What secrets do you still hide from me, love?"_

Was that why he'd told her? Could she have avoided ever hearing this confession if she hadn't asked?

But somehow, with the cold raising a shiver up her back, she realized that it wasn't the secret that bothered her. Yes, it was unexpected, and… well, frightening, but that wasn't what… scared her.

He'd told her. He'd put words to something that she was sure he could have spent his entire life never voicing.

The fear of being feared. This secret was only that. A secret. No more, no less. And Dorothy Catalonia was an excellent secret keeper.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and a smirk rose to her lips. The silly little man believed she wouldn't be able to accept it. How many times must she remind him that she was not an ordinary woman?

Turning, she quickly left the balcony and her dark room behind her.

* * *

Quatre stood facing the wall with his head bowed and his eyes focused on the patch of carpet in front of him. His intention was to begin the night prayer, but he could not utter the first words. He kept drawing his mind back to prayer, but still, he couldn't make a sound. Couldn't find the strength to even raise his hands. And in between attempts, his mind drifted.

They had spent most of an hour without a single word between them. Slowly he had come back, his emotions calming as he stayed in her arms, listening to the dim echo of her heartbeat. His tears had quietly dried long before he felt he could move away from her.

Quatre had no idea what she had to think of him. He had stayed there, completely unmoving, just memorizing the feeling of her arms, of her shoulder, of the way her cheek lay against his temple, his body held up against hers, everything.

…Just in case it was the last time.

Dorothy.

He had never had the courage to imagine how he'd tell her. Even so, he thought it was worse than he could have thought. He hadn't meant to spill it out like that. He never realized how horrible it would be to actually put that into words. Or how much it would affect him again.

He hadn't meant to cry. He was sure his tears had only made it worse. Dorothy Catalonia was not a woman who obviously viewed tears well.

But finally, the absolute shock and stillness had allowed his wits to ease back in, and he had finally opened his sore eyes and managed to whisper, _"I'm sorry."_ Clearing his throat a little, her hand had moved to brush over his hair again. _"I should have told you a long time ago."_

Against his temple he'd felt her shake her head at him. _"It doesn't matter."_

He wanted to believe that so badly. But how could it not matter to her? One way or another, it had to.

She had stayed with him. She had easily accepted him again, held him as it were. He hoped it was enough. He hoped that she could understand, could relate, enough….

Not that he had expected her to run out the door or anything. Quatre really held no fears that she would just walk away and turn her back on him outright. No, no, Dorothy wouldn't do that. Not to him. Probably not to anyone in that condition.

But he may have neatly severed everything that he was trying so hard to gain with her. He may have just made it completely impossible for her to love him back in the way he so desperately wanted.

But Dorothy deserved to know. He should have told her long ago, before all of this. …Before he was emotionally dependent on her.

Her actions in the next couple days wouldn't be nearly as telling as her actions in the coming months. If she slowly shied away… Quatre would let her go. He had no chance, and no desire, to force her close to him after telling something like that.

He deserved to lose her.

So there he stood, having no will to move himself on his own, and unable to allow himself to pray. The thought of calling on Allah after a confession like that left him feeling numb and… undeserving.

The gentle knock at his door snapped him forcefully out of his stupor.

Glancing out at the dark sky, he threw a worried look at the clock on the bedside table. Confirming it was close to midnight, he swallowed down the little panic that the common knock inspired. He wasn't anywhere near prepared to face Dorothy again.

He had managed to pull away from her and they had mumbled a couple awkward goodnights before he had left her there, still sitting on the floor. He hadn't even remembered to pick up his shoes. Now, he turned to face the door, uncertainties racing through his mind.

It wasn't like her to initiate a follow up like this so fast, or even at all. Something had to be wrong.

Shaking his head roughly to get the thoughts and panic to shut up, Quatre quickly went to the door, hoping she hadn't left already. Opening it, he found Dorothy standing there looking exactly the same as before in her sundress and bare feet. There wasn't a trace of disgust or remorse on her. She blinked at him and then raised an eyebrow with an expectant look.

And shaking out of it, he stepped aside to let her in. What else could he do? "Dorothy?"

"I figured you hadn't even tried to go to sleep yet," she tossed back at him as she wandered in, took a good look at the still neatly made bed through the light from the hallway.

"I… uh…." Deciding he didn't need to actually answer that, he let it drop. He could have at least turned on the light before he opened the door.

Without bothering with it, she shook her head and took the doorknob out of his grasp, and shut it for him.

Completely at a loss he only watched her as she circled around him and then comically pushed him into walking over to the bed on the other side of the room. "Shoes, please," she stated before moving around him to un-tuck the covers and fold down the sheet.

"Dorothy…."

"Don't 'Dorothy' me," she responded, sounding far more bored than angry. "Come on, come on," she shooed him along as she moved to the nearest window and closed the curtains.

He still didn't move though until she walked back to his side and firmly planted both hands on her hips, staring him down. "I…" he opened his mouth but had to fight for something to say. "I'm not… wearing any," he tried, confused more than anything else.

Relenting mildly, she looked down at his feet and then shrugged. "Oh. Good then. Bed time," she announced, gesturing to the bed that she had turned down for him.

He had no way to refute that. Calmly giving up he figured he should allow her her sway. Obviously this was Dorothy's way of looking after him, and he could only let her. He should take this as a good sign.

So, he mechanically sat down on the bed and after another sigh and a wave of her hand he laid down and tucked himself in.

But to his surprise Dorothy sat down on the bed beside him and leaned down to cross her arms over his chest. For a moment she paused and simply looked down at him through the dim light from the windows. The position brought up the still somewhat fuzzy memory from Mars so long ago. Somehow he didn't figure that was a coincidence.

"You do realize," she quietly began, moving one hand to brush his bangs back from his eyes, "that you worry too much."

Blinking, Quatre watched her, waiting for her to continue. Something in him knew this wasn't normal between them, but he gained just enough hope from her touch to not let it scare him. "Sometimes," he managed, willing her to go on.

Shaking her head at him, he couldn't see her eyes well enough to gain any idea what she was thinking. "You really think so little of me."

…What? It didn't sound hurt, or bitter, just a simple statement. Actually there could have been a note of humor in it.

Instead of expounding on that any farther, she simply moved her hand again and leaned down to kiss him. Once again he had the mad rush to grab her and keep her there, but Dorothy stayed on her own, letting him return the sweet, little touch.

Simple and affectionate. She softly drifted away, and he let her. Still confused and wondering at her presence and actions and words and that kiss, Quatre didn't exactly get his voice back. Instead, she stood up again and turned to the next window in line and drew the blinds there too, darkening the room to gray outlines.

Still he kept his eyes focused firmly on the ghost of her form. "Dorothy…." Again he came up with nothing to actually say, but he was desperate once again to not let her leave.

"Hush," she strictly commanded him as she walked around to the other side of the bed. "You need some sleep. We have a long drive back tomorrow, and I've gotten used to being chaperoned."

To his complete, flabbergasted shock Dorothy crawled into the other side of the bed, raised the covers over herself and then made a production out of fluffing the pillow a couple times.

"D-Dorothy?" he asked, wide-eyed and staring at her as he felt her turn onto her side to face him, bunching the pillow under her head.

"You're stuck on one word, sweetheart. I know you're tired," she matter-of-factly reasoned to him. "Go to sleep."

"But… wha-what are you…?" his brain stalled.

"I'm making sure you stay put and rest," she answered him anyway. "Although I don't share well so my apologies if I kick you off the bed. Goodnight, dearest," she closed before he felt her shift a little under the covers.

And he lay there, staring into the dark where he knew she was beside him. Her presence was tangible even though they weren't touching.

She was… impossible. Impossible, incorrigible, uncouth, scandalous, disarming, bewitching, extravagant, precious… perfect.

"Thank you," he finally managed to whisper to her.

"Hmm? Hmm," she mumbled, clearly finished talking to him.

The pain in his chest was so blissfully euphoric that he wanted the edge of it to drive itself as deep as it possibly could. There was no need for words between them tonight. She knew that. And she didn't mind. For a few blissful hours, she was giving him her presence with nothing demanded in return.

It was the sweetest acceptance he could possibly ask for.

Slowly a tiny smile managed to find its way onto his lips before he turned to check the clock beside the bed again. He had just enough time left.

"Dorothy?" he quietly called her.

"Hm?"

Feeling a bit silly, he carefully sat up, making sure not to steal her covers away from her. "I haven't said my prayers yet."

"Oh. Well, don't mind me," she mumbled.

It was so cute he could have chuckled at her. "I don't want to disturb you, but the first two parts are said out loud."

"Really?" there was a curious note to her voice. "By all means, go right ahead."

She raised her head and propped it up with a hand as though interested and willing to watch. Unfortunately that only made him swallow. "Uh… I'm not sure that I'm ready for an audience exactly," he lamely replied.

"Oh." It was a bit disheartened, but she seemed to come up with a reasonable solution. Rolling over, she turned to face the other direction and snuggled herself back under the covers.

With a mild sigh he figured that was as much as he was going to get, and slipped out of the bed again. Always before, he had found an appropriate place to pray away from her. For some reason he didn't feel confident enough in front of someone yet. It was still new to him. So, moving as far across the apartment as possible, he chose the place he was in before and finally cleared his mind and began.

Quatre counted a few mistakes and corrections as he recited the verses that he'd memorized. It was uneasy knowing that no matter how softly he spoke, he was sure Dorothy listening. But beyond that nervousness, there was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude centered in his chest. Dorothy's simple presence and unusual ways were a blessing that he would never forget.

As he finished, Quatre stayed for a moment in the sitting position concentration on the happy gratitude that was still settling in his chest. It was a feeling he wanted to memorize, although she had given it to him before in all sorts of little ways. But this, this was monumental.

Standing silently to his feet, Quatre turned to look back at the bed. He couldn't see her, or really even make out her form. He wondered if she had drifted off to sleep yet. The third and forth _Rakaah,_ or parts, of the night prayer were said internally, so it had been quiet now for a while. Should he really slip back into bed with her? No matter how innocent the intentions, that still seemed improper.

Perhaps he should just lie down on the couch. Stepping over a few feet, he stood next to it a moment and considered.

"The covers are going to be warmer."

So much for thinking she was asleep. The voice was soft though, and a bit drowsy sounding. It probably wouldn't take long for her nod off. Provided she felt everyone was in their place.

So mothering. Quatre smirked at the thought and grudgingly went back to the bed and crawled in, doing his best not to disturb her side of the covers. The bedspread had been moved and bunched up in the middle of the bed behind her back. Most likely that was her way of ensuring she didn't accidently invade his side of the bed during the night.

Lying on his back, he settle himself in, feeling far more reassured. "Thank you," he quietly whispered to her.

"For?"

"I… couldn't pray before you came in."

"Couldn't?"

Yes, that was actually the right word. "I just couldn't start."

There was a soft hum and she seemed to nod into her pillow. "You have nothing to be so ashamed of."

He was surprised, but in the dark he mulled those words over. Ashamed was probably right. He didn't feel he deserved to pray. In finding his faith again he had begun to realize that it was that feeling of undeserving that had driven him away for so long. But…. "Don't I?" he softly questioned. Out of everything he had done, didn't he deserve to feel ashamed?

"God isn't petty, darling. He doesn't turn a deaf ear."

In other words, there was nothing he could possibly do that should make him believe he couldn't pray. Couldn't… ask forgiveness. Couldn't move on. Mentally he knew that, but somewhere in his heart there was a piece that was still.... Well, that still didn't think he should be forgiven.

"That's good advice," he whispered. This was as far as he wanted to go with those thoughts for tonight. Right now he was happy just to have completed the night prayer, and when he woke, he would begin the morning prayer, and each one after that.

"Mm, I stole it," Dorothy mumbled back with a quiet snicker.

And with a smile, Quatre closed his eyes. They were so very alike in so many ways. Idly he wondered if it was Fr. Rumser or one of the happy little nuns that had told her that.

"_You have nothing to be so ashamed of."_ Perhaps, but the morning would tell if Dorothy could believe that.

* * *

This wasn't one of her best devious plots. By dawn Quatre had given up and slipped out of bed to begin his morning rituals. Dorothy then gleefully stretched out in the middle of the bed and shuffled the numerous pillows around her like a fort, willing the morning to go away.

Neither had gotten that much sleep, she was sure. She hadn't realized that sharing a bed would be quite so annoying. It was apparently an acquired taste. Neither of them were used to having someone else move, or murmur, or just plain breathe, in the bed beside them.

Quatre seemed to be a light sleeper, and she was fairly certain she'd startled him out of a doze a couple times. For the most part he was just still and quiet, but she had trouble getting comfortable while diligently staying on her side.

It was actually a rather stressful night considering her goal was to make it relaxing.

Oh well. That was what he got for being a notorious brooder.

Dorothy stayed firmly in place as she heard him move around the suite. Snuggling the covers over her ear, she did a sufficient job of blocking him out for more than an hour. Just as she was beginning to drift into dreams of monstrous pillow aliens and random explosions, she felt the mattress move just enough to rouse her.

"Stupid dreams," she mumbled without bothering to open her eyes.

"We'll need to leave soon," came the soft reply.

Grudgingly turning over to lay on her back, she wiped at her eyes. Opening them only half way, she glared at him for a moment. Quatre didn't mind though and only seemed too happy to wait for her to get up. Perched on the side of the bed behind her pillow defenses, he was already showered and shaved and changed. Maybe she'd been dreaming longer than she'd thought.

Closing her eyes again, she turned her head away and pushed the covers back up over her nose. "Don't look so danged perky."

There was a soft chuckle, and she had to admit that it sounded good. "I'd like to get my shoes," he continued, rising from the side of the bed. "Where is your room key?"

Dorothy's eyes popped all the way open.

* * *

"You know what that woman had to have thought."

"Trying to explain it wouldn't have helped," Quatre tried to sooth. Poor Dorothy was still upset about having to trudge back to the front desk for a lost key card. Especially while shoeless and wearing the same slightly crumbled dress as the day before.

She was right, of course. However, Lady Catalonia was not a household name that the general public would recognize, and he was sure a hotel resort like that prided itself on keeping its gossip anyway.

Of course…. "If you'd been nicer to the desk lady, it probably wouldn't have looked so bad."

"Oh, shut up," she half-heartedly snipped. Crossing her arms, she settled heavily into the passenger seat. "I started being nice to Director Huberts for you, and all it got me was the chance to sit in on more boring meetings."

He had to chuckle at the rebuttal. His dear Lady was a bit cranky after such a bad night's sleep. But what that really told him was that nothing had apparently changed between them. It said something that she was comfortable enough to be crabby around him.

"And what did I do to make you be nice to the poor Director?" he asked, curious as to why she'd start now. She hadn't even been that civil to the man before.

For a moment there was nothing but the grating silence of contrition. "You've become a very persistent voice in my head."

Taking his eyes off the road Quatre turned to stare at her profile as she solidly ignored him. Finally turning back, he grinned gleefully. "I'm flattered!"

"You're flattered?" she questioned.

"Yes. I'm flattered. That's probably the sweetest thing you could say," he mused out loud. "That's a major accomplishment."

"It is?" she turned to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Of course it is. That means you actually listen me sometimes."

"What?" she snipped.

The voice in her head. The admission that she valued his opinions, or insights, or whatever, enough to internalize them. Actually just the idea that she thought about him when he wasn't around was good enough for him.

"Just because your nagging has lodged itself inside my brain does not mean you get a trophy," she grumbled.

"It should," he retorted, the smile never leaving his face. "Say what you want, but you already admitted it."

"What exactly did I admit?"

"That you listened to me."

"You act like I've never done that before."

"Not willingly."

"I didn't say this was willing either."

"Doesn't matter."

Dorothy gave a grown of dismissal and turned back to watching the scenery go by.

"So what did mental Quatre say?"

With a raised eyebrow he noticed Dorothy give him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Afraid my imagination is going to be competition?"

It was his turn to throw her an odd look.

With a shrug, she stretched a bit and made herself comfy. "The imagination is prone to extremes. Everything in our heads is either better or worse than it really is."

And sometimes, reality can catch up painfully. He understood that. Just like his prior, idolized views of the woman next to him, it takes time to fine tune a mental image of someone else.

Or even an image of yourself. Quatre had begun to wonder during his prayers this morning if the reason he felt unforgiving was because he didn't want to forgive himself yet. It wasn't as easy as it sounded.

"I'll try not to be jealous of my own good counsel," he moved on. "You're stalling. What did your conscience tell you to make you be nice?"

Dorothy snickered at him. "I give you credit for being an irritating mental annoyance, and all of a sudden you decide that makes you my conscience?"

"You enjoy calling yourself my bad influence, I just invented my own title," he smiled and then waved a hand to coax her along.

"I don't remember what it said."

"Oh, come on," he whined.

"I don't," she defended. "It's just that typical sense of disapproval you always give me."

Casting her a sideways look, he watched her absently stare out the window. "It's not disapproval." Turning, she regarded him quietly and he realized she didn't believe that at all. "Well, not really," he amended.

Drumming her fingers on her crossed her arms she sat and waited for him to try to continue.

Quatre swallowed involuntarily. "I mean, I don't mean for it to come across that way." She hummed cynically and simply continued to wait for him to try to get the foot out of his mouth. Pausing to rethink his tactics, he tried again. "I've come to understand that you always have good intentions, I just worry about your methods sometimes."

"Like with the Satellite."

"Yes."

"You think I have good intentions?"

"Of course I do." Taking his eyes from the road, he met hers for a moment. "I trust you. I'm just…" he turned back to the road before quietly finishing, "afraid for you sometimes."

Dorothy also turned away to the view. "I suppose you must."

He blinked, finding it odd that that was the point in his confession that she'd picked up on.

"I'm not really used to having someone afraid for me. At least, not someone so open about it." He caught the little look she threw him and the teasing note to her voice.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'll try harder to not care."

Giggling, she moved over and laid her head on his shoulder. "No you won't."

It was a quiet little rebuttal without the conviction he thought it should have. _"Don't leave me again… please."_ "No, I won't," he affirmed, trying to stick to the joking tone they had before. He promised her that with all his heart.

Dorothy heard it within that little assurance. He always seemed so quick with those assurances these days. Perhaps she seemed needier than normal to him. Especially after confessing that he'd scared her by leaving her on the Satellite, she supposed it hadn't really left his mind. "You… confuse me," she tried.

"About what this time?" he good-naturedly sighed.

That wasn't the right word. "You cloud the issue," she tried again.

"What issue?" he questioned before she could continue.

Sitting there, with her head against his shoulder she tried to remember the feeling that she had. Before that defensive rush, she'd been so irritated that he didn't get it. Didn't understand. But more than that, she hated that she couldn't… do it. "I'm not the same when you're around."

She could tell he was confused, but Dorothy wasn't sure how to explain it any better than that. Hmm, "Maybe you are my conscience." She'd joked about it before, but maybe it was more truth than fiction.

Quatre just chuckled at her, but she found that thought rather sad actually. Could it be that she didn't want to warrant his disapproval so much that she was backing down from the fights that she'd always taken so much pleasure in? Stirring up trouble and directing conflicts were her job in life.

Did she really want to lose that ability?

That was a sobering thought. Did she really have to choose between her life's work, so to speak, and the company of her confidant?

Quatre moved a hand from the wheel and very tentatively touched the back of her hand in her lap. "What's wrong?"

How did he always know when her thoughts turned? But what did she say? Shifting, she looked up at his profile as he watched the road, a slight crinkle to his brow as he waited for her response. Worried. Always worried. Poor soul, he didn't deserve to worry so much.

"How do I make you understand?" she asked out loud.

From the corner of his eye he glanced at her. "What do you want me to do?"

Yes, perhaps she could work at this backwards. "I want you to let me run things as I see fit. Some of the games I play may worry you, but they are necessary."

There was a quiet moment while he mulled that over, and she turned back to watching the scenery, her check still on his shoulder. What she was asking wouldn't be easy for him. She was asking that he let her take care of herself, no matter the consequences that came with it if she failed.

"I trust you," he finally stated. "I trust your motives and your commitment. I guess I also have to trust you with yourself."

She smiled happily at the comment. Good boy, he did get it after all.

"But you have to promise to take care of yourself better."

Oh. "I do," she shrugged.

"No you don't. You walk straight into things without backup and without an exit strategy most of the time."

"I don't normally need one."

"You're still not used to asking for help either," he mildly chided. "Whether you realize it or not, you have a very wide collection of people you can call on at any time." He moved to look down at her, and she shifted away enough to see his eyes. "I want you to promise me you'll start using them."

He was certain of his words, and she couldn't find a way to argue that so she simply nodded. Quatre was so assured that their collection of friends had embraced her as easily as he had. Although she'd seen nothing to the contrary, she wasn't sold on the idea of their unwavering support.

"Promise," he stated again.

"I promise," she clarified and laid her head back down. Sure, she'd promise. She'd try. Perhaps that would ease his worry and allow her the free reign she needed to be able to work.

Quietly he took her hand, and she moved both of hers to surround his. "I…" he softly began but trailed out.

Waiting for a while, Dorothy grew impatient. "What?" she prodded.

"I like the job title of conscience. It… sounds close."

Aw, how sweet. She braced her chin on his shoulder and began trying to nuzzle against his ear. "Do you still doubt that?"

"No, not really," he tried, squirming as far against his door as he could to get away from her. Unfortunately she held his hand firmly in her lap. "It's just… uh…." Pausing, she let him collect himself enough to spit it out. "You—you've become my confidence in a lot of areas. It's nice to think that goes both ways," he lamely finished.

His confidence? This from a man who took on the military forces of the entire Alliance with one suit and an uncertain collection of friends? Aw, but maybe she understood. Leaning in again, he cringed as she got close to his ear, but this time she only whispered. "The voice in your ear. That's the position I want. I'm sure I've told you that before."

"You do a very nice job," he swallowed.

Dorothy merely giggled at him.

"But… is that all?"

"All?" she raised an eyebrow, but settled her head down again.

"What good is molding me into a good student if all you intend to be is a teacher?"

That was an odd thought. "Isn't that a teacher's reward?"

He didn't say anything more, and she was left wondering. She supposed it was unusual for a woman to spend so much energy forming a man that she hadn't borne or married. But it was such a fun little investment. She hadn't really thought of cashing it in.

Covertly she looked up at his profile again. She had already decided that she no longer liked the idea of letting him go. But what exactly did he think he was hinting at? Was he afraid she was going soft on him? "You think so little of me," she mused.

"You've said that twice now. What do you mean?"

Twice? Oh, last night. Not really the same thing, but she would let it go. "You seem to forget I'm not a typical woman."

"I don't think I ever forget that," came the deadpan retort.

_Brat_. "You were afraid to tell me that last night," she stated matter-of-factly. There was an uneasy pause, and she knew the topic was still not open for questioning. "You shouldn't have been," she went on before he had to say anything else.

"I tried to tell you before a few times, but I could never get it to come out," he quietly confessed.

"Did you think I'd shriek and run away?" she teased. There was no reason to leave him thinking she was troubled by it. Even if it was stuck in the back of her mind, he didn't need to worry over it. "Like I said, you think so little of me. I'm perfectly capable of understanding."

It was all the assurance she figured he would need. If it was never brought up again, that would be the end of it. Although he'd piqued her curiosity, her questions didn't really matter. He'd chosen to tell her, and in a way, she was honored.

"Having someone who knows my past is very helpful," he quietly told her.

Probably very true. Someone to share with. That would be important to him. Someone who understood. Perhaps she'd underestimated how much that meant to him until now. After all, the list of people who fit that description would probably never increase.

"Thank you," he squeezed her hand in his, "very much."

Watching their hands in her lap, it seemed surreal. After that confession, after hearing the worst piece of his life, she knew he still needed that hand to hold. Needed her own special type of understanding.

She really was the perfect choice. Or maybe his only choice. Their lives paralleled each other in many ways. In others, they still complimented each other. And in their darkest memories, they both understood. That should mean that he would never need to be afraid again.

He trusted her. Until this moment, she didn't realize what that actually meant. She had always wanted to be good for him. Now, she knew what she was protecting. Even if it was just from himself. It was a simple revelation really. He had a deep desire for the comfort of understanding. Maybe everyone did.

His secrets she would keep, and his trust too. She wanted to. Maybe because it was reciprocated, maybe just because she liked to feel needed. Either way, he was hers in a way that no one else could claim.

With a smirk, she closed her eyes and let the road sweep by them. He was stuck with her. Just as stuck as she was. That's nice.

* * *

"All packed?"

"It doesn't take long when you never unpack," Quatre mumbled, coming up beside her at the balcony railing.

Dorothy smiled and wrapped her sweater tighter around her. The breeze had picked up and the air was cool as the afternoon dwindled down. The chateau's gardens were still full and fragrant and she had to admit that it was actually nice to see them.

She had done quite well with them, if she did say so herself.

Looking over, he seemed to be admiring them as well. He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he had apparently found his vest again. "Will you stay for dinner?" she asked, wondering what time he'd logged for departure.

"Sure."

Well good. She still didn't like being stuck in this place alone it seemed. Although the thought of going home wasn't all that appealing either at the moment. Her cat probably wouldn't even recognize her. Turning, she headed for the music room door.

"Dorothy."

"Yes?" she stopped.

"I have a present for you."

Looking back at him, she noted the mischievous little look and raised an eyebrow. "You really don't understand the concept of birthdays, do you?"

"Well, I just got them back last week. You would have got them earlier, but they were," he cleared his throat, "in my luggage."

"Yes, yes. You have no impulsiveness. I get it," she waved it off.

"That is not true."

Giving him a good once over, she shrugged, "So what is it?"

Quatre sighed, a bit crestfallen. "You really have a way of killing suspense."

"I know."

"I'm not sure if you'll like them or not, but I took a chance."

Dorothy studied him oddly as he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Gifts that came with explanations usually necessitated a faked smile while you tucked it away somewhere never to be seen again. She couldn't fathom why he would be getting her something like that.

Curious though, she stepped in and looked expectantly at the box still firmly in his hand. It was a special order item, she could tell by the packaging. It was too little small to be a shelf trinket though.

Apparently satisfied he had her complete attention, he took the lid off the box himself and tucked it underneath. Jewelry then, she decided as a small piece of foam blocked her view. This was the second time he randomly showed up flashing jewelry boxes around. She wasn't sure she cared for it.

Looking up at him he nodded for her to take the foam out and she rolled her eyes at the grand unveiling. Plucking it out, she found a pair of earrings neatly settled on a black velvet board.

"I know you normally only wear small earrings, but, well, I got a little carried away with a design program one night and decided to go with it."

He was right, she normally only wore studs because her hair tended to tangle around anything too dangling. But looking up at her were a pair about an inch and a half long of fine swirls of gold. The filigree pattern looked vaguely similar to the sides of her mother's ring and she looked up at him in disbelief. "You designed this?"

"Well I had a lot of help from the jewelry store, but I got the basic shape right," he tried a tight smile.

Looking back at the box, she shook her head in abandon. "They're beautiful." At the end of the dainty little line of gold work lay a trillion cut stone on each earring. A pale minty blue twinkled back at her, and she couldn't honestly place what type of gem it could be. Picked up the box, she examined them closer, still tripping over the idea that Quatre had just randomly dreamed them up.

"If you don't like them, the store would be happy to reset the stones for you."

Oh, she was making him nervous. "No, absolutely not," she stated, looking up at him finally. "Thank you. But what possessed you to try jewelry making?" Was the man bored?

Tucking his hands back in his pockets, he shrugged at her. "Well, the stones were sample pieces and I decided you were the best choice for them. The rest just sort of… happened."

Samples? Taking the box, she turned and walked back to the door of the music room to get a better look at them. She still couldn't place the oddly colored stones. As she entered the room and turned them to the light, she watched as the little stones cleverly changed from the pale ocean green, to a light violet shade.

Raising her hand, she looked down at her mother's ring, which had also turned from dark green to a reddish color under the indoor lighting. The space mining museum they had randomly wandered through so long ago came flooding back to mind. "These are the meteorite stones," she snapped, looking back at him.

Nodding with a smile she realized he must have wondered if she'd catch on. "It's just entering the jewelry market. Those are some of the first to actually be set. Most of the supply hasn't been cut yet."

These were gemstones that were oddly found in a random piece of meteorite that was being salvaged for raw materials at one of the Resource Stations. The same stones she had picked out at the museum as being pretty. The ones closest related to the alexandrite her mother's ring was made from. "You had samples?"

"Of course. The company logs any anomaly."

My, my, what a busy little snake he'd been. "And you stole them?" she asked with a smirk.

"The president can liberate things as he needs," he defended himself.

"Really?" she purred, walking back to him. "And what did I do to deserve all this?"

"Well, you are my best investor," he smiled at her.

"I'm not sure that would be a lawful perk."

"It's not a company asset. Just a cataloged item."

"I see." Stepping in close, she traced the front of his vest with the corner of the box. "What do I get if I invest more?"

"Well the rest of the samples are reserved."

Dorothy broke out laughing at him. So that cocky little attitude of his was back, was it? "I'll remember that come Christmas."

"I wouldn't expect it. It's a long process."

"Awfully sweet of you," she purred, leaning in closer and getting him to bump into the balcony railing behind him.

"Do you like them?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, she murmured, "Very much," before bumping his nose with hers. "Thank you."

That was the right answer because he was obviously proud of himself. "You're welcome."

And with a happy little hum of her own, she turned and walked off through the door and up to the grand piano. She didn't bother to try to decipher the vague muttering she heard from the open doorway as she giggled to herself. Setting the box down, she quickly took her sapphire studs out, and slipped the new ones on. The thin, swirled lines of gold were very light and she had to admit she liked the feel of them.

Quatre sat down at the bench and nodded his approval. "They look nice."

"Thank you." Sitting down beside him, she raised the key cover and began to pick out "Mary had a Little Lamb" from memory. "Now would be the appropriate time for the ulterior motive," she stated, not looking up.

"Do I need one?"

"Yes. Or I'll start imagining them for you," she teased. Adding his own embellished chorus of the song on his end of the keys, she could only smile. Her dearest never did have an unpleasant thought go through his head.

"Consider it a thank you then."

"For what?"

"Not being a 'typical' woman," he teased.

Giving up her elementary attempts, she stopped and let him continue his playful little version. Studying his hands on the keys, she reached up to touch one of the earrings. They were delicate little things, but somehow very stately. She wondered if he thought that described her. As much as she didn't like the delicate part, he did, unfortunately, understand her better than she wanted sometimes.

He knew she normally only wore single gemstone studs. That wasn't something most men would notice. That showed that, just like her, he had picked up on things simply by being curious enough about her to notice during their time together. The fact that he had knowingly broken that tradition was sort of fun. He could have had these set quickly and easily if all he'd wanted was a pair of studs, but he'd taken a chance.

A chance to see if he could change her preferences, or at least influence them. Or maybe…. Her eyes drifted to his face as he happily continued to play whatever came to mind. He'd given her something different. Along with the extremely rare stones, he'd put something of himself into them. They were absolutely one of a kind.

Dorothy both loved and cursed the fact that she was always something different. But so were the people she kept in her life. They were far more interesting than the typical, and the man beside her was an anthology of mismatched personas and desires. Figuring him out probably wasn't possible even though she kept trying.

Maybe it wasn't healthy to try so hard. A certain level of mystery, of suspense, of difference and secret, kept things lively.

Then again, he already knew her secrets. She wanted to be bitter. "Answer me something?" she began.

Quatre flashed her a look but seemed to turn purposefully back to the keys. "Alright."

He tried, but she heard the guarded note to his voice. Touchy subjects she understood, but unspoken subjects she wouldn't avoid anymore. "Was that the only secret you still had from me?"

Again, his music faltered, but this time it slowed to a stop. "I didn't mean to keep it a secret exactly."

"I understand that," she brushed it off. "I don't blame you for not wanting to talk about it. But that isn't what I asked."

Turning to her, he studied her a moment. "Are you afraid I'm hiding something?"

She wasn't sure. Sometimes there were things going on inside of him that she couldn't quite decipher. "Trying to consol myself," she shrugged. "It seems I have nothing left to hide. I'm finding that very… discouraging."

With a smile he turned back to the keys but didn't begin again yet. "You're safe with me."

Dorothy blinked at him. _"You're safe with me,"_ not _"your secrets are safe with me."_ Odd slight of tongue. Was he feeling protective? Well, when wasn't Master Winner being protective?

"There's nothing else like that," he affirmed, stretching past her to get to the full range of the keyboard. Again his fingers began effortlessly coaxing a melody from the instrument. It was a song she knew well as her mother's favorite piece. He must have practiced it since the last time she'd heard him play it.

But at the moment, this little piece of nostalgia didn't settle her. "Like that?" she questioned. For some reason that phrase caught her attention.

He continued to play, but his eyes opened as if he suddenly needed to concentrate on the correct combinations. Watching his face, she reached up and pulled the key cover down. He barely had the chance to get his fingers out of the way as it slammed shut.

Staring at her in shock, she held his gaze, daring him to speak first. "…What did I say?" he finally managed.

"You look guilty," she stated evenly. In disbelief, his jaw worked a couple times, but he didn't manage to utter a word. With a sigh, she shook her head at him. "I think I've proven myself. Whatever it is, spit it out."

"What makes you so sure—"

"Quatre," she stopped him. This man was never going to give her proper credit. She was an excellent lie detector. Sliding off the bench, she stood up and walked back to the still open patio door. Closing it, she spun around and leaned back against the glass panes.

The poor man sat, turned around now to watch her with a deer in the headlights look he was trying valiantly to suppress. Cocking her head to the side, she simply waited. There couldn't possibly be anything more disturbing than what he'd already told her, it seemed strange that something was still strangling him.

"I still don't know what you want me to say," he quietly confessed.

She let a smirk raise her lips as she watched him. "I want to know why you're fidgeting." Right now he looked itchy and uncomfortable in his own skin. "I want to know what you don't want to tell me."

"It's not like that," he quickly blundered out, averting his eyes. "There's nothing else like that." Moving a hand to rub his neck, he sighed wearily. "Trust me, you already know me better than anyone should."

"That sounds like my line." He smiled and looked up at her again, obviously thinking he was safe. "But why do I always get the feeling that there something going on inside you that you aren't sharing?"

The smile slipped slowly off his face as he watched her. There was a bit of disbelief to him that she was pushing this issue, but it was his own fault for making her curious.

Turning to the side, she lowered her eyes. "A girl is liable to think you don't trust her as much as you say you do," she coyly teased.

"That's not true," he forcefully refuted her, and one look at him made her drop the act. Whatever the trouble was, he wasn't in the mood to play.

Well, too bad. Stepping away from the doors, she slipped forward, one hip at a time.

Averting his eyes again, he studied the floor beside him. "Don't you ever have things that you just can't admit out loud?"

Dorothy stopped a few steps away, a familiar pang of fear echoing through her memories. _"I miss him."_ Things she didn't admit out loud. Things she wouldn't even voice inside her own head. Putting words to things made them real. Just like the fear that she'd felt when he'd walked out on her. She hadn't wanted to name that.

Cheater. Just like him to take all the fun out of this. "Fine." Throwing up a hand she waved it off and began to walk around the piano, tracing a hand down the polished side.

"That's it?"

Pausing, she turned back to him oddly.

"You're actually giving up?" he looked up at her in abandon.

"Were you testing me, Master Winner?" she raised an eyebrow.

"No!" he hurriedly backpedaled, realizing too late that he should have kept his mouth shut. "I—I mean that I'm surprised that you agreed with that. You're… you're always so direct," he tried, again finding the floor interesting.

Dorothy leaned heavily on the piano and propped up her chin. "You may be surprised to know that my thoughts aren't always so coherent."

He gave her a chuckle and nodded to himself. "That's comforting actually."

"You're the transparent one," she narrowed her eyes at his profile. "What do you not want to admit to yourself?"

Quatre turned back to the patio doors. Raising a foot up on the bench, he crossed his arms over his knee and rested his chin on them. "It's not that I don't admit things to myself, usually it's that I'm disappointed with myself for it."

Just like always, he had a better way of dealing with his emotions than she did. But, also like always, he kept beating himself up about it. With a mental sigh, she walked back to the bench and sat down beside him. When he turned to look at her, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him in to kiss her.

It was an easy, grateful touch. He really was very sweet. Backing away a few inches, she didn't let go of his face, and didn't open her eyes yet. "I missed you," she whispered. "When you left, it scared me. I had to admit to that. And, I missed you," she confided.

"I'm sorry."

He always was. Opening her eyes she found his eyes. "You're turn," she challenged.

He blinked and swallowed but didn't try to turn away.

"Tell me," she prodded. "What's kept you awake at night recently?" Nuzzling his nose a little, she closed her eyes and waited for some innocent little fear to come out.

"I… can't."

He was being stubborn. "Tell me."

"You wouldn't appreciate it."

Appreciate it? She didn't care if she understood or not. She just wanted to hear it. Wanted to brush it aside. Wanted to take his worries away. "Try me."

"I can't lose you."

She opened her eyes to find that he'd closed his. Lose her? Silly boy, did they need to go through that again? "Just tell me," she commanded a little stronger this time.

"I…."

Growing a bit irritated, she moved a hand to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and moved in again, whispering directly onto his lips. "Tell me."

"I… love you," he breathed.

Dorothy peaked one eye open to try to gage him, then moved back an inch to mildly shake her head. "That's no excuse." If he was going to go all mushy and sentimental about not telling her maybe she should give it up.

Quatre pulled back in order to look at her too. An expression flashed across his face a little too fast for her to place before it was replaced with a confused crinkle in his brow line. "That wasn't an excuse," he very slowly stated.

She didn't get it.

They stared at each other a long moment before his eyes softened. "You knew that?"

Looking at him like he'd lost his mind, she mildly shrugged and released her hold on him to settle back against the piano. "It's not hard to figure out."

She watched him turn from her to the view out the patio doors again. He seemed stunned almost. For some reason the whole situation didn't seem to settle right. Should she have been shocked? Quatre loved everyone. He was a notorious sap. Everyone knew that. And they took every opportunity to remind her of that. Granted they always insinuated—wait.

…Wait.

"Quatre?" she soberly tried to call his attention back.

He moved a hand to rub at his eyes and then seemed to draw a deep breath.

"Quatre," she tried again, a gaping hole opening in her stomach.

"Did you misunderstand me?" he very quietly asked, slipping his foot back to the floor and slouching back against the piano with her.

Dorothy automatically sat up straight and turned to watch his face as he slowly met her eyes again. No, that wasn't…. He didn't mean…. He reached up to touch her cheek, and her hand gripped the edge of the piano bench to keep from snapping away from him.

With clear certainty she watched him calmly form the words, "I love you." She felt him trace his thumb over her cheekbone. "I'm in love with you."

"You mean…" she began without thinking. _Everyone was right?_

* * *

"The best proof of love is trust." – Joyce Brothers

"Anything will give up its secrets if you love it enough." – George Washington Carver

AN: Happy 2010!


	65. Chapter 65

AN: Alright, seriously, after 64 chapters you would think that I would have had such a pivotal scene like Dorothy's reaction all planned out, right? Oh no. It took me a month, literally 10 attempts, one desperate email to my favorite sounding-board (Thank you Ex!) and I FINALLY got to the scene you see below.

That being said, some of you have expressed interest in my writing process. If anyone would like to see the greatest example of my screw ups to date, drop me a note and I'll email you the _20 pages_ worth of leftover carcasses of those attempts. All of which are from Quatre's point of view, which is obviously where I kept going wrong. Random Isis advice to all writers out there: delete nothing until you are positive you are finished! And then keep it longer.

Otherwise, do enjoy!

_Revelations  
_By Isis  
Chapter 65

With clear certainty she watched him calmly form the words, "I love you." She felt him trace his thumb over her cheekbone. "I'm in love with you."

"You mean…" she began without thinking. _Everyone was right?_

How could they? How dare they know?

How dare he? How could he possibly let this on to everyone else but her? He wasn't even capable of being that conniving.

She should have seen this coming. She should have.

She had. Had she?

She had. She'd seen it. It just wasn't… wasn't like _that_.

No, no it wasn't like that. He just didn't get it. "No… no you're not," she reasoned to herself. In her dumbfounded state it took a second to realize she'd said that out loud, and then specifically clamped her mouth shut against any other randomness falling out.

Quatre blinked at her, and in abandon he very slowly responded, "Yes, I am."

He was sincere. He was trying very hard to make her believe him.

She didn't believe him. But he did. Well, how the hell was she supposed to refute him when he believed it?

Did that make it real?

No! This was just a bad idea. It was completely wrong. He didn't have a clue what he was saying. He'd wake up tomorrow and take it all back. He was just being overly emotional, that's all.

He'd had a horrible time this weekend. He'd conveyed his worst memory to her. Confided the worst possible thing he had ever done. That was bound to make someone a little emotive. And she hadn't done him any favors. The poor man just wasn't thinking straight. He was vulnerable and needy and she'd gone all mushy on him.

It didn't mean what he thought it did.

What was she supposed to say?

He sat there, waiting for her to spit something out. The silence was choking, and he had a terrified look of trepidation written all over him. She had to say something. Anything.

Poor Quatre. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve—But he looked so….

"I'm… I'm sorry this is sudden," he carefully worded, swallowing harshly.

Sudden? Seriously? That's what he called this?

"I know you didn't expect this," he slowly got out. "I don't want to upset you."

Oh, stop it. Stop being all blundering and idiotic. Stop being serious! All worried about her reaction instead of his own. Bleeding sap. He needed to worry about himself. She wasn't the one that was going to get her heart ripped out if she said the wrong thing!

She couldn't do that. She couldn't do that to him.

"No…" escaped her clenched jaw. Quickly she reached up and grabbed his hand that was still lightly held against her cheek. Bringing it down she held it in her lap. The physical contact was her only assurance right now.

What did she say? He couldn't possibly….

His eyes followed his hand and he didn't look back up at her again. But he swallowed again, obviously trying to settle himself. And doing a better job at it then she was. "I knew you wouldn't appreciate this. You weren't ready to hear it," he berated himself. "But… you needed everything. You have all of me now." That probably sounded reasonable in his head.

Oh crud, this was all her fault!

Dorothy's heart sunk even lower in her chest as she watched him lick his lips, staring at their joined hands. Oh Quatre. That was it? That was what he didn't want to tell her?

Why had she made him say that? 'She wasn't ready to hear it,' ha! He shouldn't have said it. He didn't need to say it.

But he told her… because she'd asked him to. Begged him to. Needed some stupid, worthless sense of security that there wasn't something he still held back. She'd just wanted—needed to take away whatever lay underneath. She'd just meant to ease the troubles out of him. She'd just wanted… all of him.

He was right, she'd gotten it. She just didn't know….

This was what was weighing on him. The only reason she'd pestered him so much was because she recognized that there was something still nagging at his conscience. Something still buried under his skin that he couldn't be free of.

She'd just wanted to take that away. She'd wanted to share it. It should have been easy. She should have just tossed aside whatever was bothering him. Like so many other times before, she just wanted to be his absolution.

But this time she was the problem. _She_ was his problem. She was the wrong that she wanted to free him from.

What was she supposed to do? How did she make it better?

Quietly he closed his eyes, a bit of smile trying to come to his lips. She was sure he meant for it to be resigned, or maybe reassuring, but it was actually the most painful expression she had ever seen on him.

No. No. She didn't mean it. She didn't mean to make this hard. She was trying. She just didn't know what to do. "I…" she tried, but still the words wouldn't come. Her heart stopped somewhere in her chest, and she thought her arms where probably shaking. Her grip tightened on his hand and she wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let go.

Let go.

He wouldn't dare let go. Would he? But if she didn't say something…. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. It was useless but she didn't care. It was something. It was out.

It worked just enough. He opened his eyes, but still, his gaze was locked on their hands. "Don't apologize," he whispered, again trying to smile just a bit. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He believed that. And worse, he knew that before she'd thought of it. She had to have done something wrong. He wouldn't feel this way if she hadn't been…if she wouldn't have….

What was she going to say? Was she about to think that their relationship was wrong? That was exactly where she was headed. And he knew that. How many times had she debated how close she was getting to him? How many times had she ignored her better impulses?

How many times had she chosen to stay with him because she didn't want to face the alternative? She'd questioned herself, but she hadn't changed her behavior. She'd wanted to. Or maybe she hadn't. But it always fell apart when he was around. It didn't matter what she tried. She couldn't do anything else. It was just the way it was.

She had seen this coming. She'd just ignored it because it hadn't felt wrong. She didn't want to admit it to herself because when he was there… it was alright.

_Oh, I'm so sorry. _"Quatre."

He finally looked back up at her. Searching her eyes for a moment, his expression soften. "You hate surprises." Was he trying to tease her? At a time like this?

Somewhere in those perfect marine blue eyes, she knew he wasn't lying. He wasn't mistaken. He wasn't under duress. He meant what he was saying. Completely and honestly, he meant everything he was saying.

And he just wanted her to understand that.

"This isn't how I ever meant to tell you," he continued. He just kept trying. He just kept on. "But you know now."

Fine! Believe it then! She wanted to scream at him but she couldn't move.

But what was she supposed to do about it? What did she have to return? He already had everything she was! She didn't know what else…. "What… do I do?" she tried to ask.

He paused for a second like he didn't understand the question. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she did either. For a moment, he seemed confused, but somewhere in his posture, she noticed him relax just a bit. "I don't know."

Oh, well, great. Who exactly should know then? This didn't make any sense. He had to want something. There was no point otherwise.

"There's no ultimatum here," he clarified. Thinking a bit more, his eyes lowered away from her. Again he watched their hands, and squeezed hers just a bit. She wasn't sure he still had feeling left in that hand, but she would not let go. "I just can't lose you," he confessed. "You said that I scared you when I left the satellite like that. What scares me…." He took a deep breath, and seemed to try to put his words together. "I'm afraid that you won't want me beside you."

Oh, the idiot. What was he thinking? That was it? That was all he wanted? He was going to go through this pain and all he wanted was some worthless assurance of something he already had?

"I do." Well, what else could she say? If that's what he wanted, she had no way to refuse him. She'd give him anything right now. Anything he could have possibly asked for. Anything she could. "You're right," she slowly calmed. "You can't lose me," she stated without any reservation.

She may regret this act. She may figure out too late that she should have handled this completely different. But right now, it was all she could do. He was here. For some reason, to her, that always made all the difference.

His little smile was genuine this time. And when he met her eyes, she sat in awe of that tender expression. That really was all he wanted. And she'd given it to him. That... couldn't be wrong.

She'd helped him. That was all she needed too, right? She'd made it better.

"Good," he nodded. Taking a deep breath he seemed to snap back to normal somehow. "Come on." Dorothy nearly fell off the bench when he suddenly stood up. Tugged at her hands that hadn't loosened their hold on him, he prodded at her to follow him. "I believe we were supposed to be going to dinner."

Wha—? What was wrong with this man?

* * *

There was something seriously wrong with him.

They were at the same restaurant, were sat at the same table, had the same waiter. She'd even ordered the same thing because she'd just sat there and stared off into space looking at the menu instead of reading it.

Where did she go wrong?

For the third time Quatre looked up and caught her watching him, but this time Dorothy didn't bother turning away. Self-consciously, he covertly checked his shirt for a spill and then wiped his mouth with his napkin before looking at her again and gave her an expectant little smile.

Still, she sat, calling him nasty names inside her head.

Figuring out there wasn't anything coming, he picked up his fork again and began picking at his food.

What sort of idiot fell in love her? And why of all people did sweet, blundering Quatre just randomly decide she was the best thing since the beam saber?

This was completely aggravating. The initial shock had worn off and now she was left with the bitter revelation that her view of human emotions was once again hopelessly flawed.

And she did not enjoy that.

He'd betrayed her. He'd told her he could handle being close to her. At least somewhere, somehow, she had gotten that idea lodged in her head. She'd believed him. Why wouldn't she?

She hissed at her own thoughts. It didn't matter. No matter how much she had tried to fight him off, fight off the idea of them being together, they were. They just were. Together. She'd given up on the idea of doing anything about it.

Apparently that had been the wrong choice.

But she couldn't say that. How did she tell him she wanted to slap him upside the head and make him snap out of it? Violent thoughts were obviously not supposed to happen after confessions of—of that sort.

Right?

Putting his fork down, he pushed his plate back a bit and took a deep breath. "Do you want to share?"

She was pretty sure she had an involuntary eyebrow twitch, but said nothing.

"No," he decided to answer for her and returned to uncomfortably staring at his plate.

What was she supposed to do now? He was taking this all too well. He needed to start acting more shaken up. Quatre wasn't the type to go around spouting out nonsense, and she'd clearly given him the chance to take it back. No, he was serious. He was just being irritatingly calm.

"_This isn't how I ever meant to tell you."_ Her eyes narrowed slightly as those words tripped up her thoughts. _"…ever meant to tell you."_ What was the "ever" doing in that sentence? How long was "ever" exactly? She'd gotten the idea that this wasn't something that he'd just instantly blurted out. She was convinced she'd missed this coming, but…. "How long?"

Looking at her, it took him a minute but he forced a slightly apologetic smile to cover the stage-fright expression. "Uh, well," he stalled. "A while."

Raising an eyebrow, she waited very impatiently for him to rethink that approach.

Swallowing tightly, he looked away again, obviously not going to look her in the eye. "Um. I didn't plan this," he meekly began. Yeah, she'd figured that. "Well it was, interestingly enough, the, um, same day you first saw that gemstone you're wearing."

About time he got flustered. He was cute when he was flustered.

But she blinked and only then remembered the earrings she was still wearing. Fingering one of them she sat and tried to remember back. That was way too long ago. Confused, she could remember the museum on colony. She'd stayed an extra day with him after… something. The company Christmas party? "That was almost a year ago," she stated out loud. That was absurd.

The apologetic smile turned guilty but stayed in place. "That was when I had to admit it to myself," he amended.

"_What do you not want to admit to yourself?"_ She'd asked for this. This was completely her fault.

Dorothy stopped and stared at him blankly, all thoughts draining from her head. When her brain turned back over she slowly began counting.

That was December. January. …She'd been used in the hospital demolition investigation. The Nickels' refinery had come under some mild scrutiny, and Quatre had found her waiting in the spaceport. She had no idea that Lady Une had included him. She was still a little upset about that fact. But she'd met Iria and Aleigha, and had then conned him into staying with her an extra night. That night…. "_The last thing I need is to have love hit me upside the head and drive me to doing something stupid." "Sometimes you can't control everything." "When have you ever known me to believe that?"_ Oh dear Lord, she was stupid.

"_You're in love with a challenge."_ How many times had she admitted that that was true but had no idea what to do about it? She'd harbored that thought for months.

February had begun the security preparations for fundraiser for Miss Relena and the Minister. They'd been together off and on, including brunch with the Marquise and his wife. Wayridge already had his plans for him all mapped out by then though. Did the old man know where this was heading before she did?

March saw more of the same until they met again at Relena's. _"Who was she?" "Who was he?" _The memory of that night still turned her stomach. But now… now she supposed she actually realized how badly that had to have stung. _"Kiss me. For old time's sake?"_ The idiot. He'd just wanted to keep her close, hadn't he? Reclaim her after her admission of dating someone else. Well, she'd done the same thing after his denouncement of Jesimae Nickels, hadn't she? Were their mindsets so close?

April. That bouquet of roses for her birthday, and the subsequent teasing she took from Felicia and her happy little collection of nuns. They'd barely met him, did they still manage to see what she didn't? Not everyone could have, right?

But he and the Mags had come to the chateau that week, and with them had been a dark cloud of worry and whispering. That's right, he'd found out about his mother. She still didn't know if he'd gotten over that exactly. But she'd helped, hadn't she? She'd managed to be good for him. That was all she wanted.

May. Finally the fundraiser. Complete with an assortment of heart to hearts. It seemed that happened far more regularly, didn't it? Aw, but how did she forget Quatre and Andrew's little pissing contest during the whole thing? "_When are you just going to let someone care about you?"_ Andrew? Even Andrew? And The Fezzes Love Connection. She'd made them all wear pink for a correct assumption, hadn't she? Well, they deserved it. But true or not Quatre still went waltzing by with the perfect Miss Leilalie, of all people. …Maybe he hadn't actually been as taken with her as she assumed. _"…I find you enticing." _It had sent a shiver down her spine, but she'd written it off.

And then his bizarre acceptance into Oracle. Yes, his stealing of her last secret. Wayridge had set all of that into motion for her. Perhaps he gained something too, her old accomplice always did, but she'd talked him into it. The rainy day she'd told him to pity poor Quatre. How right she'd been then. And the Marquise had so politely taken it to heart. She was going to pour tea in his lap the next time she saw him.

And to top off that horrid affair, that stupid tabloid article came out implying their relationship…. That hadn't actually come to anything all, had it? Had she honestly worried for nothing? Oh, but she'd told herself then, hadn't she? She couldn't predict emotions, least of all Quatre's. She was stuck with him and vowed to stay where he needed her. After that, Catherine had gone off—oh hell, she was not telling her this!

June. Nashita and Manual's wedding. That little sparring match she'd walked into and Quatre's too tight t-shirt. Yeah, she had to remember that. He'd whisked her out alone that evening and returned her mother's ring. He'd been up to something then, hadn't he? She'd notice, but he was such a bumbling idiot that she didn't catch it.

Instead, she'd gotten him in trouble in front of the whole Corp. for taking her into the base. She still hated herself for that. She'd feared he'd even abandoned his sense of right and wrong for her. For her… she'd felt it so acutely then. That feeling that he had her, that he'd taken all of her… but, maybe that was just his self-defense.

July…_"He's a better kisser than I am, isn't he?" _Von. Did she have to add him to the list of those that were right? _"Silly girl. He loves you."_ _"I seem to have that effect." "He isn't used to it though." _He was right to worry. They were all right to worry. She'd just brushed it off because she didn't want what they were saying. She wouldn't make it real.

She'd left for the Satellite that day under orders for Oracle. And Quatre had come with her, only to…. Dorothy raised a hand to rub at her eyes, forgoing that memory. It was still a little too fresh.

She'd been there, taking care of placements through August and now into September. What was that? Nine? Was that only nine months? …Nine months.

She'd missed this for nine months?

Dorothy Catalonia, the woman whose pride and specialty was her ability to read men, had entirely missed the affections of transparent-as-water Quatre Raberba Winner for _nine months_?

That was the last nail in the coffin. Her aggravated thoughts cut themselves short. She didn't have the right to be upset for being deaf, dumb and blind. "Why didn't you tell me?" she quietly demanded anyway.

"I couldn't."

"Because?"

"You wouldn't have forgiven me." He was completely serious. The way he said it, she knew that he'd spent a very long time mulling over this. Brooding in the way only Quatre could. She couldn't even imagine what he'd been through emotionally in all this time. Harboring something like that. It wasn't natural for him.

Closing her eyes, she had the decency to feel ashamed. "You shouldn't have had to bear that by yourself."

"I didn't want to tell you," he objected. "After the initial shock, I wasn't about to say anything. For the longest time I couldn't be sure of my feelings. And if I was, I still didn't have the heart to want anything other than what we already had."

That caught her attention. Focusing, she watched him settle back in his seat.

"I don't know how many times I second guessed myself. Second guessed you. And I don't know how many times I still came to the same conclusion because there just wasn't any other alternative. But eventually I realized I didn't have to weigh everything under a microscope."

Sighing at himself, he quietly looked at her for a moment. For what, she didn't know. She didn't have anything to say. She couldn't even quite digest all of that yet.

"Everything between us has always just happened. Nothing I do has ever affected that," he mumbled but recovered. "This really doesn't change anything," he earnestly stated.

That was such a load of crap. And that dead-puppy earnestness was sawing on her last nerve.

"You don't really believe anything I just said, do you?" he asked, deadpan.

Oh. Was she making that obvious? She seemed to have lost all tact about this. "I don't have any reason to not believe you." Eh, why bother? "But no, I don't."

He gave her a miserable sigh and dropped his head. "I should have just lied," he grumbled to himself.

But Dorothy heard it. Sitting there, watching him rub his temple like he always did when she gave him a headache, she sort of realized that this was still Quatre. Her Quatre. She knew him. And she knew he would not be trying this hard to make her understand unless it was very important to him.

Yes, he could have lied. Made up something or found some other way to make her shut up. Or he could have taken it back when she gave him the chance. He had ample opportunity to refute those words, to explain them away somehow, but he hadn't. He'd tried his best to make her understand.

And if he hadn't told her, if she really could still say in her heart that she didn't believe him, he'd still be alone in this. Somehow that left her cold. After all, wasn't her whole reason for forcing him into admitting that because she wanted all of him? Didn't she want to share it? Make it better?

He'd kept this from her for nine months. Maybe he was right, maybe he couldn't have said anything. He'd had his doubts. That was actually nice to hear. Maybe that meant she wasn't quite as blind as she felt. She wasn't supposed to have noticed.

"Um, is everything alright for you?"

Quatre gave the waiter a smile and was about to assure him that their nearly untouched food wasn't his fault. Always so concerned about everyone else's feelings. "No."

Both men looked at her a little surprised, but she graced the waiter with an evil little smirk. "I can't seem to get over my dessert cravings. I might as well skip ahead."

The waiter chuckled at her, but nodded. "Would you like to see our cart for the evening?"

"No, just bring me whatever you have with the most chocolate content," she waved him on.

He laughed again and nodded. "And you, Sir? Are you finished as well?"

"I might as well be," Quatre nodded and let the man take both of their plates.

"I'll be right back."

Crossing his arms on the table, Quatre sat smirking at her. "So your plan now is to eat yourself to death?"

"No, just eat until this makes sense."

He nodded with a laugh. "Then you're going to have to share."

Narrowing her eyes she picked up her fork and gave him a mock salute, which he half-heartedly returned with a spoon.

He did always humor her. Maybe… _"This really doesn't change anything."_ Could he be serious? Could someone possibly want nothing in return? Well, maybe want was the wrong word. _"I can't lose you."_ That was the honest fear. That was what he needed from her. She could see that. And she'd already given her word that he would not.

"Want" was something else entirely. He obviously wasn't going to talk about want. More than that, he wasn't about to demand any of those wants. No, her dear noble knew the difference between need and want, and he wasn't about to mistake the two.

How did he do that? The bloody man just somehow always knew the correct course of action like it was inscribed in the back of his eyeballs. So annoying.

"You keep making faces," Quatre un-wisely observed. "Tell me what you're thinking?"

"You're annoying."

"Oh."

Serves him right. But that crestfallen expression was probably only half faked, and right now she really couldn't handle him like that. "What do you want?" she asked instead, curiosity peeking into the emotional turmoil regurgitating inside her head.

He looked at her oddly for a moment and then shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Want," she stated again. "What do you want out of this?"

The look of dread was instantaneous. "I—"

"Here you are," the waiter reappeared, placing a small sundae covered bunt cake between them and placing a coffee tray at the edge of the table. "Enjoy."

Oh, that looked good. "Thank you."

She picked up her fork and stole a small piece before she paid enough attention to notice that Quatre was just sitting there staring sullenly down at the confection. Hm, maybe that wasn't an appropriate question. Sticking the fork in her mouth she watched him continue to not watch her for a moment longer. "Hazelnut."

Blinking out of his stupor, he finally acknowledged her. "What?"

"The cream in the middle," she pointed with her fork. "It's hazelnut."

"Oh." He looked back at the cake as though seeing it for the first time. "Sounds good."

Intentionally lowering her eyes, Dorothy took her time carefully selecting another bite. "Should I not have asked?"

She noticed him inch his spoon over and poke at his side of the cake. "It's not really up to me."

How was what he wanted not up to him? "Excuse me?"

With a sigh, he lowered his spoon again without eating anything. "I want you to be happy."

Dorothy stuck another bite in her mouth and left the fork there, glaring incredulously at him.

When he had the nerve to look up at her again, he quickly waved off the look. "I know it sounds stupid, but it's true. Right now I just… want you to forgive me," he backed down.

Forgive him. Oddly, that sounded reasonable right now. "I thought you said that there was nothing to apologize for," she softly countered.

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I'm not apologizing for my feelings. I'm just apologizing for…." He made a hand gesture, but apparently he couldn't find the right words.

Laying aside her fork, she lightly took his hand and laid it on the table under hers. She understood. He was a partner, her confidant, her sounding board. He was her conscience and her foundation. He'd altered that. Now who was she going to run home and complain to about the blood idiot who'd fallen… in love… with her?

The idea that nothing changed was wrong. He'd tried very hard to tell her that. Tried to soften the blow, but the truth was that there was a difference. He could feel it the same as she did.

Did she forgive him? It'd be so much easier if he'd just take it back. Snap out of it. Fix it somehow like he always did for her when she didn't know where to go with her emotions.

Who was going to fix this?

Oh, dear Quatre. He was still trying to fix her. Even if he was the problem.

Huh. So they were each other's problem now. How ironic.

"Do you forgive me?" she asked, still watching their hands.

"For?"

"Making you say it."

"Only if you forgive me for saying it."

There was a bit of a smile to his voice and that was enough. She released his hand and suddenly eyed the little maraschino cherry topping the cake. An evil little idea popped to mind, and she deliberately swirled the cherry around in the dollop of whipped cream. "Maybe," she drawled. Raising the cream covered fruit by its stem, she pointed it at her partner and wiggled it towards him. "If you'll help me eat my cake."

Quatre was trying to keep the grin off his face and gave it a scrutinizing look. "I don't know. I really don't like cherries," he stalled.

"Oh, for me?" she cajoled, and moved it a little closer. He gave a martyr's sigh, but leaned to take it. Dorothy pulled it away at the last minute, watching his surprised eyes. "Well, only if you mean it," she mock-pouted.

With a wry smile, he chuckled at her. "I can't say no to you," he reasoned, his eyes not leaving hers as he inched in and bit off the little sweet.

"_Aw. Devotion." _Von was right.

Chewing it quickly, he obviously swallowed without trying to taste it. "Happy?"

Picking up her fork, she dug into the cream filling, and hummed contentedly. For a moment, yes. Yes, she was.

* * *

Pulling into the parking place, Dorothy turned the car off, but neither of them made any move to get out. Quatre watched the entrance to the spaceport for a while before he noticed her doing the same thing.

Neither one of them seemed to want to make the first move. The silence was comfortable this time around, but there was an air of dread to them both. When he finally left, they'd be alone. And they both had issues about being alone.

At this point, he wasn't honestly sure how well she would take it when faced with quiet reflection and she finally had time to let it all soak in. She complained that he sulked, but truthfully she was just as bad. But unlike him, she hated to be by herself when she was upset.

He didn't want to leave her. He was afraid of what decisions she would come to, and what emotions would find their way out if he wasn't here to help. So far, she was more annoyed and frustrated with him than much of anything else. But that wouldn't last. As soon as she couldn't grumble at him anymore she'd have to reveal the rest of her thoughts and feelings. And he was not honestly sure what she was going to find.

Dorothy had an ability to squash down and repress things that he couldn't even begin to try to. He just really did not know how she'd react and he wanted to. He wanted to hear those thought she wasn't saying. He wanted so much to stay right here, and he would if she'd let him.

But somewhere inside he knew that she'd have to face that on her own. If he was here, she would ignore it, would refuse to feel it, name it, make it real. He didn't have any choice and it ate away at him.

Somewhere in his planning, in the limited amount of scenarios he'd let himself run, he hadn't quite realized that when this finally spilled out of his mouth that she'd lose her confidant. He was the one person she always went to when she didn't know what to do with herself. Quatre wanted desperately to remain that person, but this time… he couldn't be. It would take a transition, if only in her mind, to allow him back into that position.

He prayed with all his heart that this had been the right thing to do. It hadn't felt wrong. He clung to that one feeling like a lifeline. It hadn't felt wrong.

That feathery touch of a kiss, that whisper against his lips. _"Tell me."_ For the first time, the thought of saying those words hadn't felt wrong. The iron fists that had always clenched his heart and strangled his throat whenever he'd thought of telling her before hadn't come.

But it hadn't exactly felt right either. Maybe it never would have.

As much as he wanted to dwell on should or shouldn't have, he kept telling himself it didn't matter now. It was done. All that was left was to do whatever he could to help her understand.

Right now, he just desperately wanted—needed—her to understand.

But he wasn't sure she did. This was just a little bit out of her realm, especially since she wasn't the one controlling things. She hated feeling surprised, and she hated not seeing things coming. She was nearly clairvoyant when it came to her scrutiny of events, of problems, of plots and ploys, he would be the first to tell her so. But this was emotional, and slow growing.

She hadn't noticed, mostly because it was directed straight at her. Although that was an odd sort of relief to him, he was sure it was just infuriating her.

Irritation he could deal with. Annoyance, even anger, he could fend off and reason with. What he was afraid of was deeper than that. Glancing over at her from the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but worry. But whether or not she'd really be alright was up to her now.

He'd said everything he could. Sure, he could go on and on if she'd ask. He didn't mind the thought of telling her about every step he'd taken to get to this point. The prospect of sharing that was actually heartwarming. But she hadn't asked for that yet. She wasn't ready for anything more. He'd wait for her before he'd tell her anything else.

He'd said what he needed to. He'd done his best to make this easier on her. And she, honestly, had done her best to accept it. _"You can't lose me."_ She may never really know what that meant to him.

He had to stay focused a little longer. Right now he had to help her. He could figure out what this all meant to him later. "Will you be alright by yourself?" he asked, breaking the quiet.

"No," she answered without hesitation.

That was his girl. Quatre couldn't help the bit of a smile that played on his lips. "You can call and yell at me any time you want."

"Alright," she nodded to herself.

As long as she felt he was alright, she'd cope easier. He knew that. He understood her way of thinking. That was her kindness, the selflessness she showed without ever meaning too. "Come on. Walk me in." Breaking the quiet fog that had settled on them, he opened his door and got out. There was a moment's hesitation before the she released the trunk and he pulled his luggage out.

As she exited the car, he caught her hand and led her along into the building. The entryway was crowded, and the noise drowned out the silence between them. Slipping around pockets of other travelers, they apologized their way through a group of senior citizens and headed towards the much less traveled hallway to the private docks.

Suddenly he felt Dorothy's hand shift in his and he looked back as her fingers intertwined with his. Leaving the more congested area of the spaceport behind, she moved closer to his side and used her free hand to hold his elbow.

Lady Dorothy Catalonia was actually holding his hand, and being cozy, in public. He had to add this to his mental scrapbook. "This wasn't a very good birthday, was it?" she mused.

He chuckled at her, and decided he would never figure out the way her mind worked. "It was memorable."

She turned to give him a disgusted look and he laughed. This was just the latest example of the way they were together. Things just always happened, and then always worked themselves out. He needed to try not to worry.

"Thank you." Studying the pattern of the carpet as they passed, he couldn't help but feel stronger with her beside him. "You always manage to piece me back together. I can't ask for anything better than that."

It was the truth. He really did feel lighter. Between her now knowing his complete past and his present, there really wasn't anything else to weigh him down. He hadn't exactly realized the burden until it was gone.

"I'm only making you worry more."

No, not more. Just different. Looking over at her he realized she probably didn't realize that. "I'm always worried. You know that."

Dorothy stopped and he was forced to stumble back a step. "I don't want to be the cause of that."

The look in her eye told him she was serious. Unfortunately, he didn't have any idea what she meant. "I can't worry about you?" he groped for more information.

"You shouldn't need to." Lowering her eyes, she turned into him and stepped in close, watching one of his shirt buttons. "You deserve better than that."

He deserved better than worrying about her? With a quiet sigh, he mildly shook his head. Unbelievable. Dropping the handle of his luggage, he used his free hand to push her chin up. Forced to meet his eyes, he watched her for moment. "My feelings are not your fault."

She blinked like she didn't understand but he knew very well that she did. She felt responsible. But what she wasn't getting was that this wasn't some fast-paced, all or nothing, dire infatuation. She hadn't mislead him, or toyed with him. And he did not "deserve better" because she did something wrong to provoke some sort of fleeting reaction.

"In one night I told you the absolute worst part of me," he slowly jogged her memory. "And tonight, I told you the best," he emphasized. "But that's the part you can't seem to believe." She still did not realize that he really considered this to be something he wanted to feel. It was a good thing, not a burden. She was seeing the worry, but she wasn't seeing the genuine emotion he felt. Aside from bludgeoning her over the head with it, he wasn't sure how to make her either.

But slowly an awestruck look spread over her features. For a moment he just stood there watching that expression, just sort of basking in the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she'd gotten it.

"That was your past," she whispered, her thoughts finally dripping out. "No matter what, it's already done. It's who you are." She paused with a miniscule shrug, her eyes never leaving his face. "But this, this… I need to do something about." It was reasonable, but it was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "I just..." she swallowed. "I just want the best for you."

Quatre felt his breath catch for a second. That was the most beautiful thing she had ever said. It was the absolute, honest truth. He could feel that. His heart physically swelled in his chest. Even in those words, he understood exactly what it meant.

"But I'm…."

That was as far as she went though, and even though he waited to see if she could finish, he knew she couldn't. She knew her emotions, she just didn't have enough confidence in them. And she was getting stuck in the same rut he'd dragged himself through before.

But Quatre would not tell her feelings to her. He'd wait, but he wasn't sure it would be patiently. "But you're not it?" he quietly challenged. "Is that what you were trying to say?" Despite the severity of the words, he couldn't keep the smile from playing on his lips.

She mutely acknowledged it without meaning to. He tipped her chin up a bit more and leaned in closer, eliciting the slightest flicker of nervousness in her eyes. He knew that flutter of reservation, remembered it fondly like a past enemy turned friend.

"You know all of me. You understand me the way no one does. No one else can. But you're trying to say you're not the best for me?" He kept his voice purposefully soft and consoling so that she wouldn't think he was mocking her. He understood. He completely understood. Easing in, he gently touched her nose with his, and lightly turned to move his lips towards hers. "Please don't believe that," he whispered, as his eyes drifted closed.

_I love you._ He didn't say it though as he sweetly kissed her and waited for her to return it. She needed to sort out her feelings, and he would keep his own in check as much as he could. Right now he didn't want to overwhelm her, he just wanted to….

She slumped into him as she accepted his kiss. Her free hand landed against his left side as she steadied herself, and their entwined fingers tightened together.

There! There was a pop inside his mind somewhere and a giddy little shiver of excitement leapt up his spine. Before he got to enjoy that feeling too much, she pulled away first, dropping her head. "I shouldn't ha—"

"Move along, please."

They both looked up to notice the security guard walk by them and continue down the hall. For a second he'd forgotten they were in a public place. Obviously shooing along canoodling teenagers was a general part of the security force's job.

He tried, but he couldn't help the chuckle, and once it was out he just had to laugh. Of all the ridiculous situations…. He tried to bite it back and cleared his throat. Looking back down at Dorothy he sobered instantly. "What?" he asked, noting the oddly curious way she was staring at him.

"You're happy," she observed.

Oh, maybe he shouldn't be quite so obvious. "Well… no reason not to be," he shrugged. Trying to back down the overjoyed reaction, he just needed her to realize she didn't have to worry about him. He'd congratulate himself later.

Apparently settling for that, she backed up a bit and seemed to give them some space. "Well, you should be getting back."

That sort of killed the happy little fog. "Except I don't really want to leave," he mumbled.

Dorothy granted him a snicker, and raised her narrowed eyes to him. "Well, if you'd taken tomorrow off like I told you too…."

Yes, yes, she'd told him to take another day, and right now his scraped together planning commission was looking less and less important. "I could call in sick."

She chuckled, but stepped farther away, their folded hands keeping her from going too far. "You're company needs you."

"It'll survive."

"I suppose I will too," she resignedly stated.

He didn't want to leave. Especially right now, he just couldn't stand the thought of taking that first step away from her.

"But I'm sure I won't be far behind you. IRIS 01 is set to land tomorrow morning."

So she was back to business. That almost seemed like a self-defense reaction. She could throw herself into her work all she wanted, but this wasn't going to go away. And Quatre was taking some sort of sadistic pleasure in that thought. "Your little group seems to be doing quite well."

"Things are always more productive when they don't blow up," she nodded to the carpet.

She was stalling. She didn't want to leave either, but the way she kept shuffling and edging back meant that she didn't trust herself to be too close either. Even though he still didn't want to go, something told him to take his victory and graciously bow out before she got all of her senses back.

Raising her hand in his, he pecked a farewell kiss on the back and turned towards the docks once again. "Take care of yourself too," he quietly reminded her. She nodded but didn't move.

Forcing his feet to work, he took one step, and then another. And as their arms stretched, their fingers finally loosened. One more foot and they slipped apart. Dragging his luggage behind him, he gave her a last smile and turned to watch where he was going.

She'd be alright. He had high hopes for her right now. And he… well, he couldn't possibly get the smile off his face. He didn't turn back as he slipped around the bend and into the check point. She probably wouldn't understand what he was grinning like an idiot about.

He couldn't help it. He'd done it. Somewhere in all of his self-conscious blundering, he'd managed to get a foothold. And the worst thing she could have possibly done was show him that. That little display of jealousy on the bridge had given him a confidence that he'd never known before. With that came the dare to see if he could prod her, basically poke at her with a stick like a school boy on the playground.

But admitting his feelings had backed her to a cliff's edge. He'd changed the dynamics in ways he admitted he hadn't even thought of. Maybe this had actually been the exact right time to tell her. Instead of a rocky, painful downfall, falling off that cliff was short but abrupt. And he had broken her fall.

He'd broken her. Command Saud'ul would be so proud of him. Heck, he was proud of himself.

As their hands separated, she let her arm fall back to her side. Once he turned away, she spun around and purposefully strode back towards the entrance. She couldn't stand there watching his back, and she didn't want to see his inevitable last glance before he disappeared from sight. She didn't want to see that last check of his to make sure she was alright. She couldn't stand there and wait for it.

Her pace was quick, and her body somehow felt like she'd been sitting like a stone for hours and had suddenly burst into motion. She had an odd sensation that all of her blood had stopped pumping from her chest, and was now being released all at once. As she reached the main entryway again, she felt unnaturally warm, and as she hastily made her way to the doors, she felt her cheeks blush hot and an odd sweat bead at the back of her neck.

Breaking out of the sliding doors, the cool of the dimming evening air hit her like a fog. She stopped on the sidewalk and gulped down a couple lungs full of air before she glanced around at the passing people and continued towards the parking lot at a far more reasonable pace.

Controlling her breathing, she fought to slow it as her heart raced and pounded painfully against her breastbone. Getting to her car, she got in and just sat for a moment fighting for composure. Her hands slid slowly up the steering wheel, and when they reached the top, she slouched over laid her head against them.

Carefully she breathed as her thundering pulse began to soften against her ribs. Silently she prayed to calm down and after a couple eternal minutes, her body slipped back into regular rhythm.

What was that?

Feeling shaken, she pushed herself back upright, and glanced around to make sure she hadn't drawn attention to herself. No one milled around the parking lot enough to notice her and she took a deep breath to try to cleanse that feeling.

Once settled, she calmly placed her keys in the ignition and started the car. Pulling through spaceport gates, she still had an uneasy feeling like she'd done something wrong but it was too late to correct it.

Focusing on driving only lasted until the first red light she came to. That was when she noticed the silence, and she roughly flipped on the radio. It only took a few seconds before the grating noise hurt her head and made her turn it back off. Rolling down her windows, she let the breeze blow by as the light changed and she began the very longest way back possible. She didn't want to think right now, but as numb as she felt her thoughts were still leaking through.

They were saying things she was afraid to hear. But she couldn't figure out how to stop listening.

* * *

"Hey, it's not Thursday. What's up?" the cheery voice answered.

"Been a while since I checked it," Dorothy lied. She sat outside the rose garden gate, just biding her time before the chilly night air forced her inside.

"Yes, it has. When are you going to be done with this Mars thing? We need another girls' weekend!"

Catherine was always up for something. "Maybe we'll get one soon." Actually, that sounded like a wonderful idea. "Are you still in L4?"

"Nope, jumped to L5 today. Which explains why I'm still up," she sighed.

L5, huh. "Which side?"

"Uh, middle-ish. Next week I think we head planet side. Or is it two weeks? I don't know, I don't have my schedule."

"The Satellite is in L5 for the next couple weeks yet. Maybe we can swing something."

"It doesn't orbit?"

"No, it's a fixed point for communication's relay."

"Aw cool. I'll forward you our appearances. It's usually pretty dull between now and Christmas."

"Sounds good."

"So how's Quatre?" she happily moved on.

Dorothy's heart sunk in her chest and she closed her eyes. "He's fine." At least, he seemed like he was fine. Really annoyingly fine.

"Oh, maybe we should take the guys with! Trowa's a snore, but he livens up a little if Quatre's around."

Everyone seemed to be a little different around him. Maybe that was just his gift. "I suppose we can ask."

"Although it's a lot easier to talk about them when they aren't there," she teased.

"Maybe we'd better go alone," she half-grumbled.

There was a notable amount of dead air that hung on the other end of the line. "Really?" she excitedly pounced on the insinuation behind that statement.

"No, no, joke," Dorothy waved it off.

"Oh, come on."

Raising her head, she looked up at the star filled night sky and once again asked what to do.

* * *

"It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts." - K.T. Jong

"When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value the only companion we will have from birth to death - ourselves." - Eda LeShan

AN: I believe in this wholeheartedly! Not that anyone cares what I think. But if there's a life-lesson you take away from this story it is that if you can not sit in silence and be happy with just yourself, do not expect anyone else alive on the planet today to be able to make you happy. No one can _make_ you happy, there are only those who you are happier with.

I see more and more teenagers and preteens affected with this notion that the world needs to make them happy. And when their expectations aren't met, when they are disappointed time and again, they develop into depression and turn to destructive behaviors to snuff out that still, small voice that only comes within solitude. For the sake of your mental health, and soul, take the time to form yourself and you will naturally let those around you fall into place.

*Random stagehand comes out and kicks Isis' soapbox out from under her.* I'll shut up now. Next update will happen some time. Probably after everyone's gotten mad at me for taking too long. sorry, sorry.


	66. Chapter 66

AN: Yes, it's a Christmas miracle! I have managed to post a new chapter! I have made you faithful fans wait entirely too long for this little update. This year has not been kind to my writing. But once again, it was the fans that kept me going with your hopeful check-ins, desperate pleadings, and yes, mad and insane death-threats. I love my readers!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 66

"You're interrupting me in my hour of mourning."

"Well, if it'll just be an hour, I'll wait," Dorothy breezed in anyway.

"I must change that pass code," Davonte muttered to himself but closed the iron grill to his loft's elevator. "And what are you wearing?"

"Jeans."

He could see that. Obviously his question was supposed to give the snooty little girl pause and make her explain herself. And also obvious was that that was not going to happen. "Not a look I've seen on you much. Playing yourself down all of a sudden?"

"Not at all. Just being casual," she replied with a hair flip. Much like a cat's tail, that little flip was meant to signal annoyance or irritation. He'd studied that subtlety countless times.

"Oh good. Here I thought this might be a formal social call," he sniffed.

"No, just wasting time." Waving him off, she sauntered about, looking through the canvases of his unfinished projects.

Oh very well. Nothing to do but humor her. "Always at your service, Milady."

With a regal nod of acknowledgement she continued her scrutiny.

And Devonte sighed and sauntered back to the island kitchenette where the kettle was just beginning its whine for attention. Yes, yes, one at time. "So what brings you around on this lonely night? Have a bare wall at home?"

"I don't remember," she mumbled.

"Homesick for a home?" he chuckled at his own witty comment. "Perhaps I should make you something to go in that satellite of yours."

"That would be nice. The grey gets to be annoying."

"Gray is statistically the least likely color to cause eye strain."

"Then it must say something very bad that it's causing mine."

"I prescribe color."

Pouring the hot water into his prepared cup, he swirled the tea bag a few times and then let it rest. Covering it was the porcelain lid, he took it over to his cluttered drawing table and pulled a piece of parchment out of the trash bin next to it. It was just a scrap that he'd cut from a larger item, but it would do. It would need to be portable, after all.

Pulling a watercolor brush from the pot he'd been working with this afternoon, he brushed it across the paper, creating an oddly swirled brownish stain from the residue of the rinse water. Blotting it with a paper towel, he clicked on his little fan, and held the scrap of paper up to it.

Dorothy slipped up and watched him dry the paper a moment before taking the lid off his cup. Holding it up, she sniffed at it, and then removed the tea bag and unceremoniously dropped it into the waste basket.

From the corner of his eye, he frowned at the little tea bag, now seeping all over the pile of rejected scraps. Every now and then he did actually retrieve something from that bin.

Well, she wouldn't be getting a second scrap from there this evening, now would she?

Perching herself on the flat portion of the table, she sipped tentatively at the cup. "What are you doing?"

"Making you a pretty." Indirectly watching her take another sip from his cup, he grumbled, "Though I don't know why."

"How thoughtful," she chirped. Hopping down again, she moved over to the kitchenette and helped herself to a lump of sugar out of his bowl and a spoon from the drawer.

He did need to rearrange his living space some time. He'd apparently let himself get too stagnate in that regard.

"Yes, I am," he gloated to no one in particular. Clicking off the fan, he tested the paper and found it dry enough to continue. Pulling out his inks, he selected a long, thin brush and carefully twirled it into his most vivid green. "What colors do you need?" he wondered aloud as he continued to turn the brush between his fingers.

"It's not a very pretty start," Dorothy interrupted him, again sitting atop his table.

"Background, love. You set the stage before the actors begin."

"Fine then. It's not a very pretty background."

Glaring up at the insolent little twit, he removed the brush and let it drip once before priming the tip to a point on the edge of the vile.

"Well it's not," she huffed and went back to drinking his tea.

"You'll get what I give you and you'll like it." Pointedly putting the brush to the paper, he quickly produced a long flowing stem, and then a minimalist example of two bulbous leaves. "Your charms have never included how to accept a gift."

"Did I miss your course on that?"

"Causal manners aren't your niche."

"That might be true."

"You're a well practiced woman," he agreed. Replacing the green, he paused to consider the remaining vials. "Some day someone's going to give you practice in actually being one."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snipped.

It was an odd sound. Like a famous opera singer going just a bit flat on a single note, it was simply so unexpected that he couldn't help but notice. Undecided now, Von quietly scooted the inks away and reached for his basket of oils. "No offense intended," he shrugged, not looking at her. "But no one's craft is actually their life. Not even mine. You've played the arrogant but bewitching heroine for years before your time." Pulling a tube of his brightest yellow from the basket, he held it up and touched her cheek with it. "But you seem to forget that's your job, not your life, love."

Satisfied with the color choice, he pulled the drawer of the table out, forcing her to scoot her legs out of the way for a moment. Selecting a small pallet board, he went to work with a squeeze of yellow and a touch of white. With a new brush he swirled and blended… and waited.

Something was off. His cherished had a note in her voice that shouldn't have been there. True that he was a novel pastime to her these days, but he also knew that she hated to be alone. At least when forced to be.

And she was holding the cup in her lap, basically unnoticed now. Dorothy was not known for her ability to drift off into deep reflection in front of someone. Her simple lack of snappy comeback told him something was amiss.

Aw, but there was really only one that seemed capable of bringing this brash woman to a standstill. Hm, Von did have to say he rather enjoyed being able to peek in on a happening like this. Perhaps the lady was finding her feminine side after all.

Regarding the mixture, he happily added a bit of orange to the pallet. There now, a bit warmer.

"Von?"

"Wasn't he with you this weekend?" he asked, interrupting the serious tone to her voice.

He felt more than saw her look down at him. "Yes."

"What fun, exciting things are the two of you up to?" A bit more orange then.

"It was his birthday."

"Aw, what did you get him?"

"A weekend out."

Interesting. Dorothy wasn't usually the "my time is my gift" sort. "Rather cheep of you."

"He's a very difficult man to buy for."

Probably true. Tossing the tubes away, he pulled a small bottle from the top of the table. It was an exclusive item he used sparingly. But he assumed the nasty space-borne satellite was horridly lid in nothing but cheap florescents. "I suppose," he agreed. "He doesn't have very good taste either." Carefully tapping the side of the bottle, he waited for a tiny amount to spill out.

"He liked your painting," she reminded him.

Was that a bit of indignation as she defended him? How adorably unheard of. "I meant in women."

Just as the pearl flake began to creep towards the edge of the bottle Dorothy unceremoniously reached over and flicked the bottom of the jar, causing a clump of his ridiculously expensive secrete ingredient to tumble into the waiting paint below.

With an unmanly squeak, Von snatched the bottle upright and shoved the cork back in the top. Cradling it with both hands against his breastbone, he glared up at the demonic torturer.

"Oops," she sniffed, and then rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't you 'oops' me, you dreadful brat! Not all of us are gifted with dead, rich relatives!"

She still had the nerve to wave his complaint off, and continued drinking his tea just to piss him off.

So, with an indigent snort, he tucked the bottle away and then roughly pulled out the drawer again. This time he caught her legs hard enough that she crossed them, and moved out of the way. "I suppose that will teach me to defame your lover," he groused just to be petty.

"He's…."

Davonte paused his selection of brushes and waited. _"…not my lover_" should have been the continuation of that sentence, he was sure. He was expecting a slight, uncertain pause at that particular point. That would have indicated that his assumptions for her visit were indeed correct. But when it didn't finish at all, he selected a short bristled, flat brush and pushed the drawer in.

"Von?" This time he didn't interrupt. "You've never actually loved me, have you?"

It was more perplexed sounding than one would normally expect from a question like that, but even so he looked up at her strangely as she stared off into the distance. "I'm flattered. Trying to cheer me up?" Turning back to the paint he delicately incorporated the pearl flake and began the first blossom. "But the story of the devil-may-care heiress and the poor, but debonair, artist… it's been done."

Carefully, with calligraphy grace, he traced out the first falls of orchid petals. Pleased with it, he moved to a second blossom, larger this time. Dorothy gave a hum of agreement and took another drink from her cup.

"Why do you ask? Having a crisis of love interests all of a sudden?" he prodded. Perhaps it wasn't his place, but she owed him.

"Yes."

Stopping his work, he looked up at her in complete aghast. _Yes_. That was her answer? _Yes_. "Care to elaborate?"

There was an infinitesimal shake of her head. "No." Raising the cup she took another drink as though dismissing the whole topic.

How many nasty names did he need to call her this evening? "Retched child," he grumbled and went back to his orchid study.

Yes, indeed, he was right. Someone had made the woman's heart within her beat. At least once, anyway. With a mental salute to the noble lad, Von wiped the brush and gathered paint again for the last blossom.

That worked to stir her, and Dorothy finally turned enough to watch his art. "An orchid?"

"It suits you."

"It's not your style."

"You didn't call ahead." What did she expect for rush work? This was just him playing anyway. Oh, but did that pearl glow! He was such a genius, if he must admit it himself.

"Gold?"

"It's your color," he affirmed. He'd warmed up the yellow quite a bit, and it did seem to pop from the page nicely. Wiping the brush again, he pulled out the white again and a tube of violet. This little flower just didn't feel finished yet. And he couldn't bear to waste that pearl flake.

"An orchid seems a little delicate for me."

Von snickered to himself at the description. "An armored car would be a little delicate for you." He looked up at the girl and watched her fiddle with an earring for a moment. "An orchid holds a beauty all its own." Turning back to the paper, he began highlighting the petals with the paler shade he'd created. "It's a very structural flower. You have to be willing to look very closely to find its true weak points."

With a resigned sigh, Dorothy took a large swing from the cup and then set it ill-advisedly at his elbow. "Your fruity poetry is annoying when you think you know what I'm talking about."

Sitting back in the chair, he refused to create another brush stroke until she repented for that. "Well, excuse the hell out of me." Putting down his brush, he crossed his arms. "I will have to tell your failed Casanova not to pawn you off on me in his absence."

Dorothy blinked at him and then picked the cup back up and out of the way of his drawing area. "Who said he failed?"

Oh-ho! "Well if he didn't, what the devil are you bothering me for?"

For a moment she seemed to consider and then shrugged to herself. "I'm just wasting time so I don't have to go to bed." Davonte stared at her incredulously for a long moment before she had the nerve to ask, "What?"

"Go away," he shooed her with a dismissive wave and went back to his work. "Be off with you."

With a merry cackle she hopped off the desk and laced her arms around his shoulders. "Oh, Von. Don't be bitter."

"I used to be your favorite toy," he sulked. He added a smudge of violet to an empty corner of his board and cleaned his brush again.

"You're still a close second."

"Away, I said!"

She giggled loudly in his ear for it. "This being short and honest thing can be rather fun."

"Am I some sad, psychology experiment for you now?"

"…Now?"

"Are you still here?"

"You haven't finished my flower."

"I don't believe you deserve it."

"I believe I do."

Snapping up straight within her hold, he pointed viscously towards the elevator. "Out!"

* * *

Quatre pushed his luggage into his bedroom and set it aside. Humming to himself, he headed towards the bed. Hopping at the last minute, he did a half-round in mid air and landed on the unsuspecting mattress with a bounce and a sigh. Sprawling out, he closed his eyes and finished humming the tune.

The flight home was nice, and uneventful. He hadn't really found anything to think about that even came close to ruining his good mood. Even his concern for his flax-haired vixen was studded with happy little thoughts and poetic allusions.

Starting over from the beginning, he hummed along with his, still nameless, sonata in tribute to the same beloved lady. Maybe soon that little work of obsession would get a name. And maybe after that, it would even get heard.

She'd laugh. He was sure of it, but he didn't care. He'd let her laugh. And he'd blush. And he'd play it again with all his heart.

"_I just want the best for you."_ Someday. Someday those words would say "I love you too" with clarity. Soon. He was sure of it. Soon she'd come to know what she really meant.

Just like he did.

* * *

There was nothing she could do.

It was a sort of numb, limp feeling. Like being stumped. Like her favorite game had taken her to a level that she was absolutely incapable of figuring out how to win. Her king was checked, her knights were two moves away, and her queen had already been sacrificed.

She blew absently at the mound of bubbles that surrounded her. Sunk as low as safely possible in the bathtub, she let the mountain of foam tickle her nose and move ever so slightly with each breath she took.

Stupid bubbles. Her nose itched. Blowing again, she managed to carve a hole in the middle of the tower in front of her, but they refused to actually dissipate. So she sat there, wrinkling in the hot water, blowing little puffs of air at the bubble foam until she had sufficiently molded out as large an area as she could around her face.

A bead of sweat trickled lazily down the side of her jaw and Dorothy decided she may have gotten the water a tad too warm. But still she just sat, staring at the foam only four inches from her nose and listening to the crackle of the tiny popping pockets of air.

So… she'd lost her odd little game. One she still didn't really have a name for. She'd lost.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought this. She'd been right more often than not if she really thought back. She'd been aware of Quatre's affections. She'd sensed the changes in him. She'd thought more than once that he wanted more from her than she was giving.

People just aren't supposed to fall in love without the others' consent.

Somewhere, somehow, she'd just assumed that if she wasn't at that point then he couldn't be either. Why that had been so perfectly logical and unquestionable to her, she didn't know. It certainly made no sense now.

Dorothy twitched her nose as the itch came back.

But, what did she expect? This was Quatre. When did he ever do what she expected from him?

Idiot.

The twitching wasn't helping and she finally raised a hand out of the water and swiped at her annoying nose. Lowering her hand back to her side against the bottom of the tub, she grumbled to herself all the more now that she had a wet nose instead of an itchy one.

What was she doing? Lazing around, moping about stupid men wasn't her style. She should get out and make sure that she had everything ready to pack again. IRIS 01 would be back tomorrow and she had a flight to schedule, dry cleaning to make sure was back, laundry to ensure was done while she was out, paperwork to review, probably an inbox filled with new applications….

Blaa. And she wondered why she was sitting here like the Lady of the Lake, just waiting for someone to fling a sword at.

She was pretty sure she didn't deserve this.

Well, maybe.

Finished with her pity party, she kicked the drain leaver and got out of the tub. Drying, she slipped into a comfy set of night clothes and busied herself with checking and packing her luggage. Most of it was already done for her. Her butler knew she would be leaving again tomorrow and the maids must have been thrilled to do something besides dust around here.

Finally, she turned around to find that she really had nothing left to do. It was either go to bed or fire up her laptop to check in on Director Huberts' paperwork endeavors.

The latter was only slightly less appealing, but she was too tired to pretend to focus on a computer screen. Besides, she'd need something to occupy herself with on the flight.

Sullenly, she turned off the light and turned down the sheets, crawling into bed. Smoothing the bedding over herself, Dorothy stared up at the ceiling for a time, her thoughts quietly twirling between this and that.

Checking her clock again, she figured Quatre would be home by now. He'd probably turn in and catch up on some sleep himself before work tomorrow. He was probably just blissfully sleeping, happy and content with this whole fiasco.

For once, Dorothy couldn't bring herself to call him an idiot again.

Flopping around in the oversized bed, she turned on her side and bunched a pillow behind her back. Turning the one under her head, she hugged it to her and curled around it. For a moment she just lay there, and fought the temptation to wish he was here.

Buried in her pillow fort, she snuggled in and let her eyes close. For a moment she did pretended he was here._ "You know all of me. You understand me the way no one else does. No one else can. But you're trying to say you're not the best for me?"_ his voice echoed. _"Please don't believe that."_

_He… loves me_. For the first time it was a warm thought. Quatre had kissed her, giving her every assurance of that fact. And she'd taken it. Greedily. She shouldn't have encouraged it, but she didn't have the heart, or the strength, to reject him.

She'd nearly had a panic attack after he left. Dorothy had gotten a taste, so to speak, of his feelings for her. Maybe she'd already resolved herself of the fact, but she hadn't really _felt_ that it was true until then.

Nuzzling the pillow, she let that feeling wash over her as much as she could remember. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't so bad. He was happy.

…She was happy he was happy.

* * *

"Define 'blew up.'"

"The ship is in one piece, but the engine is fried. That and the whole list of other mechanical issues we've had. They're limping in, but it's going to be late."

Director Huberts was an excitable man. But, then, he had been expecting a nice, normal desk job when he took this position. Regardless, Dorothy sighed into her phone. "Making it back will do for now. Damage control?"

"I have no idea. Alstead has been running around and asking for scripts of all transmissions from them. I think he's ordering parts."

Rolling her eyes to herself, she settled back into her seat and flipped open her computer. "I have every faith in Foreman Alstead. I meant what are you doing about the press."

"Oh." There was a pause as the man obviously had to think of an appropriate response. "There's only a skeleton press crew here. We've designated their area near the receiving bay. But I'm sure there will be a lot more coming."

He was right about that. "And I'm sure that they won't stay in the receiving bays." Running through scenarios, there really wasn't any good way to keep them corralled without use of bodily force. And reporters were surprisingly resilient. "Block the hall just past the visitor quarters and invent some sort of 'authorized personnel only' check point. Tell them once the ship has landed safely, someone will give a statement."

"Someone?" the man seemed to gulp.

Dorothy was still several hours away, and she would have to wait at the next station for her connection to the Satellite proper. "Have you had any word about other visitors coming?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yes. Vice Minister Darlian should be here in two hours," he caught on.

"See there. It all works out," she smiled to herself.

"What is she going to say?"

She looked up from her computer and tapped a finger to her chin. "I wonder."

* * *

"I'm happy to report that the first IRIS transport has landed again safely after her maiden voyage to the people of the Mars colony. Many of you are aware that the transport experienced mechanical set backs during the trip, however they were managed well by our expert crew."

Dorothy blinked at the screen. Well now, what a brilliant start. Miss Relena did always have a flare for the optimistic.

"Due to the constrictive budget for this project, we are working with substandard equipment until such time that it can be replaced. Even under those conditions, our crew managed the run with a better response time than the chartered carriers we have been working with. I believe this demonstrates the level of commitment the people here have to their counterparts on Mars."

Really? How did she come up with that figure so fast? Dorothy mentally tried to calculate that herself and could only assume she was correct. On her computer screen, Miss Relena continued her happy little speech, the bulk of the 01 freighter in the distant background across the open landing bay.

Excellent. Allow the reporters a peek at it during the flowery speech and then kick them back to the lower levels again. This was going better than she'd expected.

"Dedication to this goal was exactly what I called for when this shipping line was conceived, and I am very grateful to the people who have made that a reality today. In the future I look for further improvements to our equipment to make this necessary arrangement as efficient as absolutely possible."

The reporters broke into a few disjointed questions, but Relena merely held up and hand. "Thank you for coming. Please excuse me. I would like to congratulate the crew."

And that was it. She was gone before the news feed even knew what to do about it. Two of the stationed Preventors' officers blocked the way into the bay and she could see a few others hanging around just in case anyone got ideas about a closer look.

Masterful. Relelna didn't have to do anything but smile and look happy and no one would even care that the piece of junk barely made in it under its own power.

The main engine core was seized. She'd gotten that much of a report via Hubert's latest email. They wouldn't have time to repair it, not if it was going to fly again on schedule. If it could be salvaged at all. That left stretching their already "constrictive budge" a little farther.

But Queen Relena was happy, so all was well. That was how the world saw it.

Dorothy really had no idea how that woman did it. She was an intuitive marvel. Apparently if you are known for gracious honesty, you can get away with skipping a few details now and again. Perhaps she was still underestimating this whole philosophy.

Well, no matter. Dorothy had already decided that her crews were past their hazing. And she had to admit that she'd done a very fine job with them. Miss Relena was right, the crews were expert. And dedicated. And soon to be well funded, once the Vice Minister's little jab about the budget took hold in the average voter.

Glancing around the small, irritatingly inhospitable, space plane, she sighed to herself. Four more hours before she could enter the fray. Now, what other distraction could she find?

* * *

"What a lovely speech," she cooed when the other picked up.

"Thank you. Where are you?" Relena asked, her voice sounding oddly slow as the signal got bounced around on the surrounding satellites.

"On my way, of course." Filing her nails, Dorothy checked the time again. She had waited long enough for the Vice Minister to get filled in and leave the workers with an uplifting last smile and wave. She was sure Heero wouldn't let her doddle out here too long.

"I'm surprised you missed the show."

"I had an engagement I couldn't miss," she shortened. Now she sort of regretted not being there too, but, well… oh well.

"I have the Satellite all warmed up for you. Have you been filled in?"

She chuckled knowingly at the reference. "Yes. The worthless thing limped in without its main engines, and repairing it is going to cost us more than we paid for it to start with. But you're sorry we're stuck with substandard equipment for the moment and just pleased as punch with our accomplishments despite it all."

"That sounds about right."

"Foreman Alstead is already on it," she confirmed. "Our suppliers are competent, they should have the engine core by first light tomorrow. Whatever else they need I will see to when I arrive."

"Do whatever you need to. We'll find a way to make up for it later. Right now, it needs to fly again."

"Of course."

"…You have a good crew. Thank you for your help with that."

For some reason that sounded rather obliged coming from the darling of their age. "Just being helpful," she shrugged it off. "They're an unsavory lot, but they're devoted."

"Yes. …Yes, they are."

That was rather odd. What had her brood been up to while the Princess was watching?

"If you don't mind, I'll call you again when I'm home and see how things are going."

"Of course. I expect to keep you apprised, Miss Relena."

"Thank you."

Awfully grateful today, wasn't she? With a short goodbye, she hung up and tapped the phone against her chin. So, Miss Relena now knew her worthy workers. And she was pleased. This bridge to the new world was far from the rainbow that her dear friend envisioned, but it was open.

Man is a prideful creature, and dependency only breeds resentment. Relena was being careful. Anyone familiar with the true uprising of the Colonies understood what resentment came to.

The mistake of the past was that too much rode on the shoulders of one man. Perhaps it required a woman's touch to advance the limitlessness of humanity.

This bridge was a start. The government involvement was a start. The positive movement in the minds of the people was a true beginning. But still, the foundation being laid for the future Martians was being set and mortared solely by one figure.

Dorothy was nearly finished with her task of ensuring the creation of the bridge. The next step didn't seem so clear. Something would need to present itself soon.

Turning to the window and the ink of space, her thoughts shifted. The future was still far too uncertain and there were too many at stake. Too many… who would get themselves caught in the middle. Herself included, of course.

They all had better things to do with their lives. Perhaps, even she had other obligations….

No! She was not thinking about this now.

* * *

This was turning into a very nice distraction. Irritating, but distracting.

Her brain quietly reminded her that, in fact, it wasn't nearly enough of a distraction to keep Quatre from her every waking thought. But what did it know? She was perfectly content to deal with—

"Lady Dorothy."

"Yes?"

"They're saying Friday."

Not even looking up from her contact lists she held out a hand for the parts request sheet.

The crew member must have already been here once before because he handed it over without another word and squirmed out of her office. Checking the supplier name at the top, she realized it was one she'd already called three times. Was there a single nut or bolt left on the piece of garbage that they could salvage?

Calling the supplier, again, she asked for the senior manager she'd been working with and advised him of the new part. Miraculously, he had just what she needed buried in the back and would send it all first thing in the morning with the rest.

Amazing what happens when you speak to the right person, in the right tone of voice. Capping the call with a pleasant thank you this time, she hung up before her smile turned to a grimace. Trivial busywork.

But she knew nothing about engines or wiring except that they would get her skirt dirty, so she stayed where she could be found.

Tapping her nails against the desk, she looked at the clock again. Five more minutes until the close of the business day for their suppliers. It would all have to do until the morning.

On the corner of her desk her personal phone rang, and she grudgingly turned from counting the minutes to look at it. Quatre, most likely. She'd wondered when he would call to check on her.

Wondered. That wasn't the word. Wavering between hope and despair at the very idea, would be more precise. But who wanted to be precise?

Picking it up, she examined the ID but it was not who she was expecting. Raising an eyebrow she answered it. "Now, which Maxwell do I have the pleasure of?"

"Lady Cat!" the cheery voice came over the line. "Hey, yeah. You haven't congratulated us yet."

"Sorry, I'll put your gift in the mail when I finally get home."

"Good. Make sure it's expensive," Duo instructed.

"Oh, I'll have to return that generic stemware then."

"You're a filthy rich cheapskate. That ain't right."

"Only with you. Was there a point to this call?" she wondered.

"Yeah, got a question. What type is the hunk of crap that just limped back into your bay?"

"Been watching the news today? Good for you," she mumbled. "It's a 184 Expressor freight carrier that's been re-outfitting eight times. Why?"

"According to Relena's 'love and peace and puppies' plan, you guys need three of these things flying until they get the new ships, right?"

"Yes?" she bit.

"Well, I'm the guy that's got IRIS 02 for you. …With an already updated, brand new engine core and main array fitting."

Blinking comically she allowed herself the curiosity. "How did you know—"

"Eh, it's always the engine core with those things. It's a crappy design."

"And you have another crappy designed one for me?"

"Oh, no. I got a 185 Excellzior for you. About fifty percent more cargo room, and from looking at Relena's little photo op. about a thousand percent more reliable."

Dorothy had to admit that she was becoming less annoyed that Duo still had her number. "I'm not really in charge of purchasing ships."

"Nope, but you're the woman who hired the guy that purchases the ships. I'm sending you the specs. I can deliver it before you even get a crew together for it."

Glancing at the clock again, she smirked at the cocky little statement. "Don't bet on that."

* * *

"Foreman."

"When are the parts coming?" he answered, not bothering to stop shoving a heavy looking machine around the side of the ship.

Aw, someone refreshingly direct. "About a third of what you need will be here tomorrow, including the core."

Alstead finally stopped and turned to acknowledge her. "I need to do more than a third of the work by tomorrow."

"No, actually you have a full week to get this heap up and going."

Stepping gingerly over the random assortment of cables on the floor, Dorothy noticed a little late that the bulk of the man had turned to stare down at her. "You've pushed back our next run."

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. And it was menacing. Her foreman was apparently taking this a tad personally.

Stealing herself, she looked up at him with her best unimpressed expression. "No, the run goes as scheduled. However, I've found you a second ship. We will now be doing two of the runs. That puts this ship back into rotation for the first of next week."

Alstead actually raised an eyebrow at her and then glanced around the docking bay. "When?"

"First thing tomorrow. That will give us plenty of time for a once over and to get it loaded."

With a nod, he jerked a thumb in the direct of the far landing area. "Park it over there."

Without anything else, he went back to his machine and began unwinding the cords.

That was all the thanks she was going to get from these people.

* * *

Entering her guest quarters, she looked around as the door took its time locking her in. Same gray walls. Same scratchy white bedding. Oh, but this room had a mismatched set of blankets on the beds. One blue, one green. How colorful.

That reminded her….

Her luggage had been dropped just inside the door and she unzipped the front pocket. Tucked carefully inside was the little piece of parchment that she had finally pried from Davonte's cold, dead hands. He had put up quite a struggle over this little trinket.

Realizing she hadn't brought anything to mount it with, she leaned it up on top of short dresser that sat between the beds. Admiring it, she did admit that it was very pretty. Of course, a wad of tinfoil would be a piece of art in this place.

Still, it had a nice glow to it. Very warm. The tea-stain background he'd done highlighted the difference between it and the static gray of the walls and drew everything into it.

Perhaps she would give Director Hubert's a thank you piece like this for his tiny office. At least then when she confiscated the room she would have something else to stare at besides the clock.

Yes, dear Von. Always trying to make the world more Monet.

Her phone buzzed for attention, and she slowly tore her gaze from the flower to answer it. "Home again?"

"Yes."

Turning to the rest of her luggage she pulled the first bag open. "I really need my own shuttle. Or an executive government job."

Relena chuckled at her. "Death threats have their perks."

"Speaking of, how is your perk? Did he enjoy the tour?" she smirked. No matter what, that never got tired.

"He doesn't believe there is any way to make the next run on schedule, and I tend to trust his judgment on these things."

"He's right. They would work tirelessly and send it with no regard for the safety of the crew in order to make that deadline, but it likely still wouldn't happen," she flourished.

"I don't want that," Relena emphasized. "Perhaps no one will care enough after this to report on it. And if they do, we will tell them the truth and blame the equipment."

Always the media magician. "I have something better."

"And I'm beginning to trust your judgment on these things," she hesitantly replied.

"You're sweet," Dorothy cooed, and placed a dry-cleaning bag neatly on top of the spare bed. "Actually, I shouldn't claim credit, but I will nonetheless."

"Are you going to tell me, or just gloat?"

"Gloat."

"Dorothy," she warned.

"Alright, we are getting another ship."

"…To replace this one?"

"No. To compliment it. We are christening transport 02 this week. By the next run, we will have 01 repaired and ready."

"We weren't scheduled to add the second ship until Christmas."

"Now, isn't that something worth reporting on?"

She could hear the pen click and the speech begin writing itself in the woman's head even through the phone. "I love it. But can we staff and support a second run so quickly?"

"Already done," Dorothy congratulated herself and dumped her shoes out into a pile. "The crew has their assignments and the loading team will take on new members in the morning."

"You have that many to choose from?"

It was a meek sounding question, and she had to smirk at the humility. "When you call, Miss Relena, the people respond."

She had no reply.

"Relena?" she prodded, and refolded her pants.

"Yes. I… suppose that is exactly what we need."

"You don't sound so sure about that," Dorothy wondered out loud.

"I'm… concerned."

Oh great, now what did she do? "About…?"

"No… it's just… I met a man on the repair staff today."

"Well, ninety percent of the staff is male."

"He stopped me, specifically, to thank me for this chance. A new home. He said he'd even been given a new name here."

New name. It's very likely that many of these people had invented and created whole new identities for themselves. She wasn't surprised.

"…He said he never had one before."

Oh. Well now, that thinned the possibilities. What was his name? "Neal," she stated more to herself than to add to the conversation.

"Yes. Neal Goodman. I figured you had something to do with that."

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about," she smirked.

"He was very grateful."

And he should be. That had taken some real favors. "He's a good man. No pun intended."

"Yes," she stalled.

"And he concerns you?" she pressed. Dorothy wasn't quite seeing the issue here.

"He made me realize that those people aren't really devoted to Mars, they are doing this for me."

Aw, the sweetheart had yet again underestimated herself. "Yes, they are," she confirmed.

"That doesn't concern you?"

"You think we are resting all of our possibilities on you alone?" she guessed.

"I'm afraid I am creating the next side of the battle field," the other clarified.

So, while Dorothy worried about what would happen if she died, Relena worried about what would happen if she lived. "One step at a time, Miss Relena," she soothingly reminded her. "They are building lives here. And appreciation is one of those warm and fuzzy feelings we need to keep."

She had to think about that for a time, but finally seemed to give in. "We will just be vigilant."

Flipping her hair behind her again, she smiled. "Always."

It was surprising how well they had come to understand each other.

"Well, speaking of warm and fuzzy, how are your feelings doing these days?"

Dorothy bit her tongue. "Why?" she asked without thinking. If Relena knew something of what went on this weekend she would kill Quatre and not even bother to hide the body.

"…Um, just asking."

She mentally hissed at herself for the stupid reaction. Why did that man always cause these blinded responses out of her? Probably because she never had any prepared lines rehearsed for these occasions. She'd try to work on that, but they were never anything she actually managed to plan for. Stupid, annoying, troublesome—

"Hello?"

"Everything's fine," she muttered.

"Oh. Good. It sounds like it." She didn't believe a word of that.

With an audible hiss this time, Dorothy grabbed the dresser drawer and roughly opened it, jabbed in a couple under things, and slammed it closed again. The abuse caused her little painting to fall over and then slide down behind the worthless little excuse for furniture before she could grab it. "Just fine," she grumbled. Now gravity worked perfectly for some stupid reason.

"Um… I'm going to let you go now."

Smart girl. "Sorry, my furniture isn't cooperating," she covered.

"Sure. Well, if you need me for anything, just give me a call, alright?"

Dorothy actually glared at the phone. That line had nothing to do with the new shipping arrangements. "Of course," she stated in exactly the same tone.

A giggle escaped the girl on the other end of the line. "Just take care of yourself too out there."

At least that was more sincere. "I will. I'll send you the specs on the new ship when we have it all in place."

"And I'll find a way to break the good news."

"Goodbye."

"Good night."

Dorothy closed her phone and plopped down on the floor. She had the mind to chuck the thing into the wall, but in this useless low gravity she couldn't tell where the shattered pieces would end up. How did Quatre Winner completely undermine her every action involving him when he wasn't anywhere near her?

Grumbling creative curses, she scrunched herself half under the bed, and snaked a hand towards the back of the dresser to try to feel for the painting. Luckily she brushed the corner of the parchment with a finger and managed to work it out of the crack.

Sitting back upright, she remained there on the floor between the beds and looked down at the pretty little flower. _"He's…."_ She hadn't been able to refute Von's useless little jab either.

_He's not my lover. Not my beloved. Not my love. Not my… not mine. _

_He is mine. _

That was the oddity of the thoughts that rang through her head. She had claimed him to herself countless times as "hers." She had stated her claim on him too, many times over. She had wanted that connection. Had taken that connection, whether he liked it or not.

He was hers. And there was nothing held back. Why she hadn't understood that it would necessitate all of him, she didn't know. Hindsight sucked, and its annoying little taunting was frying her nerves.

He was hers in a way no one else could claim.

In an oddly satisfied sort of way, she enjoyed that. But it also made her afraid for him. Slowly the word "scared" had crept into her timid and uninvited thoughts today. She hated that word.

Turning from the picture to look at the closed door, she found herself stuck in this cramped satellite feeling afraid because he wasn't here. This wasn't as bad. This wasn't…. She didn't know a word for the difference. It just wasn't wrong this time around. Maybe it was that she didn't feel guilty. Maybe sort of guilty. But not, "it's all my fault" guilty. Although it actually was—well, no, he'd almost beaten it into her brain that it wasn't her fault.

With a sigh, Dorothy hung her head and rubbed at her eyes. She didn't know what she was thinking.

Again, the picture in her hands caught her attention. It was such a warm yellow, highlighted just here and there with a little violet and white for flourish. It didn't belong on this dreary gray station.

But it was made just to be here. To be right here where it didn't look like it belonged.

Even Von's paintings could spout fruity poetry.

But it was right. Dorothy had thought before that she was uniquely gifted to understand Quatre. And over time the more they were together, the more they grew together. She had seen the best and the worst of him.

Closing her eyes, she wondered, if she really was the best for him, did she have any choice but to continue?

That wasn't fair to him. She didn't want to just follow along obligingly because she didn't want to hurt his feelings. He deserved better than that.

So fine. She just had to make up her mind, here and now, if she was going to allow this to continue his way and suck it up and fall in love with him back, or tell him sternly to knock it off.

Her eyes opened on their own, and she was left staring at the odd green blanket on the spare bed. Now if she only knew how to do either one of those….

* * *

Should he call? Should he not call? She probably had her hands full. She was probably regretting not being there when the ship landed. She could be regretting all kinds of things by now.

No, for now, Quatre would let her be. If she didn't call by the time he left work tomorrow, he would call to check in. Dorothy had a lot of things on her mind, no doubt.

Instead of trying to worry about it, which was an interesting new feeling for him, he lifted the bow again and started the piece from the beginning. He was confident. For possibly the first time in the history of their relationship, he was sure. He would try his best to continue as usual, to give her time, and keep himself in check so as not to startle her with new revelations anymore.

He had decided that he would wait for her to ask before broaching the subject of love again. He would remain constant and let her find her place beside him.

Quatre had no doubt that it would come. When and where was a complete mystery, but he would bide his time and try to have a smooth acceptance readily prepared in mind.

Playing through to the end of his piece, he decided that this little demonstration of affection was also finished. At least, finished enough to ink onto real sheet music. Lowering his violin, he shuffled the papers back into order and smiled at it happily. It still needed a name, but there was just no single influence, no single entity that he had found to embody his musical dictation of her.

Well….

Hesitantly he picked up his pencil from the stand and poised it above the top of the front page. Should he? What did it really matter? If this was his description then it made sense. There was no reason anymore to hide it as anything but specifically for her.

With a happy resolve, he wrote in "Dorothy" above the beginning bars. Thinking about it a bit more, he revised it to "Lady Dorothy."

Smiling, he put the pencil down and told himself it was finished.

Anything else yet to come he would start a new piece for.

* * *

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage." – Lao-Tzu

AN: Yes, even after all this time, this is sort of a short chapter. I am sorry for that. My New Year's resolution is to push writing back to the front of my bored-at-work pass time. I doubt that actually will make anyone feel better or not though.

Regardless, I had to give something for a Christmas present, so I do hope that you enjoy it. I wish a happy season for everyone celebrating any and all holidays. All my best, Isis.


	67. Chapter 67

AN: Thank you to my beloved readers, who have stuck with me, sent me notes of encouragement, and haven't given up on me. I appreciate it immensely. And again, never fear, this story will finish… someday.

My most heart fell thank you goes out to Orieon, and I hope this doesn't embarrass you. I've said in different ways over the years that when I write it must be something that is good for my dearly held readers. And through the years (literally) I have gotten hints, and notes, and special messages from several of you who have given me great hope that these odd little stories have fulfilled that vow. Orieon, though, in an effort to jostle me out of this long hiatus (which worked, please note), has been kind enough to offer me the story of how this trilogy has been helpful to him/her personally. It managed to give me tears and goose bumps all at the same time. To honestly do something that inspires or prods at someone else to do something good, or take a chance on their own potential… that is the best feeling I could possibly ask for.

I've never felt so proud and so humbled as I do in just this moment. No matter what else may come from these rambling stories, I will never forget the monumental impact you beloved readers have had on me. Thank you for gracing me with _your_ stories!

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 67

Scratchy sheets. Scratchy towels. Dorothy was going to buy this stupid satellite some fabric softener!

The tiny little shower, or "steam cage" as she was calling it, was making her hair frizzy too. People were not meant to live in gravity lower than what allows for normal water flow. Granted the station was far better than a shuttle or docked space plane, but it was still enough to raise her dander.

Lack of sleep was not kind to her. Quatre went all delightfully blunt when he was sleepy, she just got pissy.

Ah! She was so sick of that man creeping into her every thought!

Flopping on the unmade bed, Dorothy let out a mock sob and scrunched up into a ball. She was tired. She didn't want to concentration. She hated this satellite. She wanted to go home.

She didn't want to go home. She wanted to go somewhere that actually felt like home.

Ha! Who was she kidding? She just wanted to go somewhere that had a decent bed.

Closing her eyes, she just laid there. Her hair was slowly tangling, balled up in one of the towels. The only other towel available was still tucked around her, probably getting her bedding damp. But still, she just lay there, unable to muster the desire to get up.

There was so much to do. Soon the station would be back to its usual state of distress, if it ever actually died down last night, and they would need their babysitter to….

They could deal without her for another ten minutes.

She just didn't care today. Didn't care about this place. Didn't care about these people. Didn't care about Mars. Didn't care if any shuttle anywhere in the Sphere ever flew again.

She was being a brat. And she didn't care about that either.

And she certainly didn't care about her phone. Her stupid phone. Her useless, loud and annoying phone.

In the small metal box of a room its ringing sound echoed and bounced around, making it even harsher on her tired brain.

"Go… away…."

It ignored her and rang again.

Moving only the muscles that were absolutely necessary to lift her arm, she reached towards the set of drawers, her fingers wandered over the surface until they bumped the edge of her phone. Pulling it roughly to her ear, she answered it without even giving it the dignity of opening her eyes. "Catalonia."

"Miss Dorothy, it's Director Huberts."

Oh lovely. "Yes?"

"Um… there seems to be a development, and I thought it wise to let you know."

He'd better rethink how "wise" his thoughts were from now on. But grudgingly, she did make herself sit up, the towel on her hair falling out. "Go on."

Picking it up, she rose and started to return it to the bathroom. "Well, apparently, they've found bacteria."

Stopping in her tracks, Dorothy eyed the tiny excuse for a bathroom. "Where?" she asked through a disgusted grimace.

"I'm only getting bits and parts, but I think it was from the soil drillings."

Soil? Oh. Moving on she returned the towel to the drying rack. "Why does this concern me?"

"Well… I don't know that it does. But you like to know everything, and the control center is in an uproar about it."

"Over bacteria?" she wondered out loud. "Is it dangerous?"

"I don't think so."

Shaking her hair out and attempting to smooth it, Dorothy tried to focus. "Where is this exactly?"

"On Mars. Geo-one, I think."

"Wait. _On_ Mars? You mean on the planet?"

"Ah—apparently. But it's not alive. It's… fossilized, or something."

Fossilized bacteria? On Mars? How do you fossilize bacteria? How does someone even _find_ fossilized bacteria? Were they paying people to look for this stuff? "OK," she waved it off, "is this going to interfere with our shipments, or transports, or the actual terraforming process?"

"No. No. And… I don't know. They were talking about sending more scientists to investigate."

"Lovely. We'll rent them space on the transport of their choice." More squints. Who cared? The Mars colony was well equipped to handle more people. If they needed to research an interesting rock, then let them. "I think control can handle that all on their own."

"I understand. Sorry to trouble you then." He sounded a little meek, but not all that apologetic.

"I'll be meeting with a few suppliers today and be checking on the new crew placements. I'm sure you can handle the everyday. Scientific inquiry application will remain all yours," she smiled as gleefully as she could.

"Yes, Lady," he nearly chuckled. "Goodbye."

She gave a hum instead of an actual response and hung up. Bacteria. What else did she need?

Well, since her bathroom was not, for the moment, being considered toxic, she might as well get dressed. Removing her other towel, she draped it lightly over the edge of the sink since there was only one towel rack. Taking a very deep breath, she stretched, and slowly prayed for the day to be over quick.

* * *

Aw, the new arrival.

The second bay of the docking area was now filled with the bulk of a freighter, and her dear junk dealer hadn't lied, it was a measurable size bigger than the current transport. Dorothy had her crew picked and commissioned, but she couldn't say she was quite as happy with them as she was with the first. Well, second round drafting is always a little less exciting. They'd do.

Tossing a stack of completed purchase orders on Foreman Alstead's desk, she made her way through the mess towards the, as yet ignored, new ship. The flurry of activity was still centered on IRIS 01. Crates and boxes lined the wall of the bay and parts lay strewn in all directions. Wiring and conduit spilled out of hatches that she didn't even know the ship had before, and there was a perimeter of blinking machines.

If she were superstitious she'd say they were holding a séance to try to raise the dead.

Duo Maxwell stood watching the repair crews going at it, seemingly minding his manners for the moment. Dorothy did have to say he was bright and early, as promised, this morning.

Probably a bloody morning person.

As she slipped up beside him he whistled. "You made a mess of this thing."

"I didn't make a mess of anything."

"How come you ain't in there helping, brows?" he turned to flash her a smile.

"Not really my thing," she reasoned. "Do you have my paperwork?"

"Do you have my guy to sign it?"

"He's around."

Apparently still surveying the work, he handed her a stack of sheets and an envelope. Glancing though the material, Dorothy noted the envelope and pulled it open. A judgment notice from a bank and loan relinquishing the lien peered apologetically back at her. With an unceremonious whack, she hit Duo squarely in the arm with the stack of documents.

"Hey!" he jumped back.

"This isn't even your ship," she half-yelled.

"It is too." Holding up his hands, he carefully moved to take the papers in case she decided to hit him over the head with them too just for good measure. If this little deal all fell apart they were sunk with no chance of making their deadline. "Don't get your panties in a knot. Here's the insufficient funds notice. Here's the claims ruling that the owner forfeited possession. Here's the lien release. Here's the application for new title. It's all here."

"You're selling me a ship that someone forgot to come back and pick up from you," she paraphrased.

"No, he remembered. He just fell on some hard times and couldn't pay for it. Sad story," he shook his head.

She didn't care. Tapping her foot, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "How am I supposed to fly that?"

Looking at her curiously, he gave her a once over and then took note of the others around them. "I don't recommend you try to fly it. These people aren't likely to care for someone like you tagging along."

His concern was touching. "Not what I meant," she grumbled.

"Possessions' mine. We've already been through court. It's all up and up. I'm not going to screw the whole project with bad press just to sell a stolen ship." Indignantly, he jabbed her with the papers until she uncrossed her arms and took them again. "What do you take me for?"

"A cheap businessman with questionable moral character," she muttered and went through the papers again. Finding the court documents, she did have to finally admit that, short of the actual title in Duo's name, it was legitimate.

"I resent that!" Stepping in closer he looked down at the same sheet she was reading. "You can make the check payable to the company."

"You'll get it," she waved him back.

"Lady?" Looking up she found two of her workers oddly eying them. "Can we start?"

Glancing at the stack one more time, she nodded. "You may begin your inspection." Purposefully turning back to Duo she smirked. "I'm sure you won't mind if I have some of our staff double check your fine offering?"

"Naw, go for it," he shrugged and laced his hands behind his head. "I've already done that. That's why it was sitting in my repair center for six months." With a friendly smile, he called after the two, "When you do preflight, start with the right burners instead of the left. I have no idea why, but if you do it the other way around you get a low fuel error on the left side. Never could figure that one out."

With curious nods, the crew moved towards the still lowered ramp.

"So, do I get a tour?" he perkily asked her.

Dorothy sighed and turned for the door. This was going to be a long day.

Outside the docking bays they wandered along. She dropped off the paperwork to the accounting department, who did not look pleased, and slipped out as quickly as she could. Duo however was running a one-sided conversation from two steps behind her.

Side stepping, they both pressed against the hallway wall as three of the control officers went sprinting by them. Frowning, she had to admit that she hadn't seen that happen before.

"What's with them?" Duo asked at the same time. "You guys might be busy, but the suits are even exercising."

Looking at him she shrugged and started for her office again. "There was something about bacteria this morning. I'm not sure I've got the whole story."

"Bacteria? Ew. Where?"

She had to admit, having Duo say "ew" did manage to make her chuckle. "Apparently it's on Mars."

"The Colony? Is it safe?"

"No, last I heard it was in the soil samples. But it's fossilized or something." Waving it off, she muttered. "I'm not sure I see the problem."

It took a couple steps, but she did register that he wasn't behind her anymore. Stopping, she looked back to see him stuck with a strange expression on his face. Quirking an eyebrow at him he finally asked, "You found life on Mars?"

"Life?" she snorted. "I don't think dead bacteria counts as life."

Duo's eyes widened as he stared at her. "On Mars!" Throwing up his hands he made wild gestures. "You've just confirmed life outside of the Earth. The first time we've seen life with our own eyes anywhere else in the universe! How are you not seeing the importance of this?"

"It's bacteria," she dully repeated.

"What, it has to stand up and say 'hello' before it's life to you?"

Turning away again she said, "Well it should at least bark."

"I can't believe you!"

"Oh think about it. How many times have we sent things to Mars, including _us_? The whole surface has been crawled over for years. Who's to say it didn't come from here to start with?"

"Oh…" he whined. "That'd suck."

"See. No use getting excited."

"I bet you say that to all the guys."

She nodded matter-of-factly.

"But still, it _lived_ up there. I mean, it lived with no oxygen in a nearly useless atmosphere, variable radiation, subzero temperatures…. Wow."

"Maybe you should go join the fan club." Opening her office door and walking in, Duo stayed outside for a moment.

"Can I?"

Oh, she hated to dash his childish excitement… well, maybe she didn't. "No."

"Aaw!" he whined.

* * *

"Hello."

"Hi. …Thought I'd check in."

The goofy note to Quatre's voice read "I don't really have anything to say, but in case you're still mad at me, I'm going to call and pretend everything is normal again." Dorothy narrowed her eyes at her own thought and stabbed the meatball on her plate as though it was trying to run away. "Everything is running along as smoothly as it can."

"I see. 01 ran into some 'technical difficulties' I heard."

"Is that Quatre?" Duo interrupted. "Tell him hi," he waved cheerfully for no apparent reason.

"Yes, it did," she answered, eyeing her lunch guest. "Melted the core into a lovely pile of goo." IRIS 02 was already inspected, commissioned, and presently being loaded for its maiden voyage. But unfortunately, there wasn't a shuttle leaving the station for any point remotely close to L2 until this evening. So basically she had inherited Duo for the day.

Quatre gave a sympathetic moan. "That's not a quick fix. When is the next run set?"

"Well, for the moment, 01 is docked. It's set to go next week again. My little crews will have it all taken care of by then."

Duo waved again, impatiently. "Hi!" he said louder towards her phone.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to you," she hissed at him.

"Um, if this is a bad time, I'll let you go," Quatre offered.

"No, it's fine," she muttered, finally cutting up the poor excuse for a Swedish meatball. "Duo just wants to say hi."

The man beside her smiled happily at the mention and popped a french-fry in his mouth.

"Duo?"

"Quatre says hi," she told him instead.

"No he didn't," Duo mumbled around a mouthful.

"Oh. Hi!" Quatre called loudly in her ear.

"Now he did," Duo nodded.

Sighing, Dorothy figured if they were going to listen to each other anyway, she might as well let them. Setting her phone on the table, she turned on the speaker and went back to her meatballs. "Yes, he's here."

"Saved the day as usual," Duo piped up.

"You happened to have an engine core lying around?" Quatre guessed.

"Nope. I had a whole freighter lying around."

Dorothy snorted at the self-gratified little junk dealer.

"Your girl here just commissioned IRIS 02. Although she refused to get a champagne bottle," he complained to the phone. "I told her this stuff called for a drink. You're rubbing off on her, you know."

"Really?" the phone chuckled. "I would have thought with you around she would have wanted one," he teased.

"You'd think!" Duo agreed.

Dorothy chewed another meatball as hard as she could and secretly agreed with them both.

"But no," he drawled. "She's all 'leave my crews alone and stop talking to people.' It's like she's embarrassed of me. It's hurtful," Duo whined with a specific pout in her direction. Dorothy raised an eyebrow at him but didn't refute it. "Ungrateful snot."

Again the phone chuckled merrily. "I'd be careful, Duo. She has a lot of people down there that will do _anything_ she asks."

"Yeah," he leaned down towards the phone and lowered his voice. "Kind of letting her play with the bad kids here, ain't ya?"

"Like I can stop her," Quatre muttered back.

Glaring at the phone, Dorothy had had just about enough of the two conspiring about her. But at least Quatre now seemed more accepting of her role up here. She would count that as a positive. Maybe her little goading to let her handle herself actually worked.

"I don't know," Duo softly sing-songed towards the phone. "Some of these guys could be competition," he teased with a specific eyebrow wiggle in her direction.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. There wasn't a soul in here that had—

The phone on the table hummed. "Don't worry," he covertly consoled. "They all send her back to me eventually."

Dorothy stopped chewing. Duo snapped a hand over his mouth, but it didn't manage to muffle the guffaw. "Busted!" he shouted through his hand before dropping it and laughing out loud.

The phone quietly uttered, "Um…."

Swallowing harshly, Dorothy glared at the device. "Excuse me?"

"…I'm on speaker phone, aren't I?" came the meek little reply.

Duo dropped his head on the table, apparently not able to stop, and drawing the attention of every surrounding table in the room.

"Dorothy, I didn't mean—"

Reaching over, she hit the End button and hung up on him.

"No!" Duo cried and grabbed the phone that she was leaving right where it lay. "That was classic!" he went on, punching buttons on it.

She didn't care. She didn't want to hear whatever pieced together explanation or "apology" the idiot mustered. Standing up, she left her plate, and Duo, and simply walked out of the cafeteria and away from the staring lunch crowd.

Send her back to him. What was she? Rejected mail with insufficient postage? Mismatched shoes? Fake tax deductions? What?

Send her back to him. What was that supposed to mean?

"How do you dial this thing?" Duo's gratingly gleeful voice chimed from behind her. "Oh, got it."

Great. She didn't care. He could chat with his buddy on her dime all he wanted. Because she certainly wasn't speaking to him.

"Come on, brows, it was a joke. And more true than not," he added. She stopped short and turned to glare at him. "Oh we all know it," he brushed it off as the phone rang in his hand.

"I'm sorry!" came the hasty answer.

"I don't care," she hissed at it involuntarily before she remembered she wasn't speaking to him.

"It was a joke!" Quatre defended.

"It was true," Duo put in, holding up the phone to make sure she could hear.

With a quick turn, she marched off again. Her hair whipped around and ended up wrapping completely around her body in the stupid gravity. Marching quickly along, she viciously swiped at it to get her arms free.

"Duo, you are not helping me," he hissed.

"Sure I am. I'm following her. She hung up on you! Man, it was classic."

"Would you give her back the phone?"

"She won't take it."

"Would you at least take me off speaker?"

"No! I ain't missing this."

What hair wasn't getting back in place was being pulled out and Dorothy finally just stopped before she hurt her aching head any further. Angrily smoothing it back, she gathered the mass of it and glanced around the empty hallway for something to put it up with.

Duo stopped next to her, still parading the phone. "He could have said a lot worse," he reminded her. "Come on," he wiggled the phone towards her face. "Kiss and make up."

"Duo!" Quatre chided. "Can she hear me?"

He simply went on making kissy sounds until the growl left her throat. That finally got him to stop as he pulled the phone back a little from her.

The move made her catch sight of his infamous braid. Quickly reaching out, she snagged the elastic band dangling at the end and turned to walk off, ripping it off of the end of his hair.

"Hey!" he yelped.

Spinning back she held up the holder an inch from his nose. "Mind if I borrow this?" she asked through gnashed teeth.

"Nope. Go ahead. I always carry a spare." He flashed a goofy smile and she stalked off. She continued to pull her mane back until she fed it into the holder and made a, hopefully passable, ponytail out of it.

"Um, Quatre, I think she'll have to call you back," she heard him try.

"Don't count on it," she muttered to herself.

"Aw, Lady Catalonia."

"What?" she snapped before she even turned to look at the person.

It didn't matter, she didn't recognize him. The man stood in shock for a moment before handing her a set of data disks. "I was told to give these to you," he carefully worded.

Snatching them from him, she continued her march towards her office. "Thank you," she muttered, not bothering to look at him again.

"Don't worry, she's not mad at you," she heard Duo sooth him. "She has boyfriend issues today."

"Huh, hate to be him," the nameless delivery boy mumbled just a little too loud.

Dorothy stopped short, but didn't retort. He wasn't worth it. This just was not her day. Nothing was going to go right today. She shouldn't have even gotten out of bed.

"You really need to be nicer to people," Duo chided, coming up to her side again.

And then there was Duo….

"What are you actually mad about?" he asked, fishing in his pocket with one hand and holding the end of his braid with the other. "You used to be the ultimate comeback queen. Now you're just cranky."

And for a long moment, she just stood there and stared at the man as he found a replacement elastic and fixed his hair. Before he wrapped it around the last time, she turned and walked off, far more normally, towards her door.

What was she mad about? She really was just pissy, wasn't she? Oh, this whole situation was just screwing with her head!

"Um… Dorothy?"

He was apparently still following her. "Go away."

"I can't. You told me I wasn't allowed to wander the satellite by myself."

"That was for my comfort level," she mumbled. "I no longer care. Now you can go away."

"Oh, Cat." With a shake of his head, he looped an arm over her shoulders and clamped her to his side, forcing her to slow her pace. "I know sometimes feelings can be overwhelming, and scary, but it's all part of the process."

"Stop touching me," she growled.

"But you have to know something." He stopped and looked at her, forcing her to look him in the eye. "In just this one thing, you're no different than anyone else."

She stood and looked at him oddly, expecting some continuation to that. When it didn't come, she blinked at him. "Excuse me?" she raised an eyebrow.

"No, no. Let that sink in." Turning away, he loosened his hold on her shoulder but left it there and began walking them towards the office again.

Sink in? This man was not only mental, he was deranged. She was no different, huh? She was always different. Always.

She was about to give him an elbow to the nose if that was what it took to dislodge him, but she allowed another pedestrian to walk past them first. "Hello," Duo cheerfully greeted a random stranger.

Bloody man was too damned happy for his own good. They had a pre-employment screening room around here somewhere. She should have him tested. Figure out what happy drug he was on once and for all.

"The things we hang onto tell more about us than the things we've been through, you know? And you," he stopped them and she had to look to notice they were at her office door. "You've moved on better than any of us." Sliding his arm away, he kept walking. "I'm going to check to see if your new crew is getting all settled in." And with the same annoying grin, he left.

…What?

Sucking in a deep puff of air, she snapped out of it and entered her office. For a moment though, she didn't turn on her light. _"In just this one thing, you're no different than anyone else."_ What one thing? Was he just messing with her, or did he have a point?

Flipping the light on, she moved to the desk and set the data disks down. She made it three steps before she looked at the pile again. Set right on top, just the way it had come out of her hand, was her phone.

When had he—? How did he—?

Dorothy plopped herself into her chair and just sat there. As much as she enjoyed calling him an idiot, Duo Maxwell was not. If given abundant opportunity, some might even call him insightful. He was just one of those "heart in the right place" types.

And apparently… for some odd reason… he felt the need to coax her along too.

Turning in her chair, she looked out the tiny, round window at the stars beyond. She knew what "one thing" he meant. She didn't want to admit she knew, but she did. It was getting so much harder to not admit things. Maybe he knew that. Maybe that was why he'd said it.

So then… Duo had decided to become a friend. Here he was, taking an active interest in her. Just her. Quatre would always be his friend, but that little poke in the ribs wasn't for him, it was for her.

She wasn't sure she liked that. But maybe she should appreciate it. This group. These men… and the women that managed to bridle them… they'd opened up around her even though she hadn't ever thought they would—or should.

"You're no different," she repeated out loud. That was very possibly the first time anyone had ever said that to her.

* * *

"Mr. Winner?" Mrs. Shannell asked, standing over him. Quatre sat in his chair, his head on his desk and his personal phone beside him.

"Huh?" he groaned more than acknowledged.

"Um… I'm heading out."

"OK," he mumbled, still not moving.

Taking a guess, she leaned towards him a little. "That bad?"

"Uh-huh."

"Lady Dorothy?"

"Uh-huh."

"Anything I can do?" she tried.

"Hun-uh."

Poor thing. Giving him a sympathetic pat on the back, she nodded to herself. "Alright. Don't dwell on it too long."

Heading for the door she simply shook her head. Being young was so overly complicated.

"Night," she heard him mumble his goodbye.

Teenagers. They were all the same.

* * *

"Hello," Quatre cautiously answered the phone. It said it was Dorothy, but he had no idea if she ever took her phone back or not. As he drove home through traffic, he was afraid to be disappointed again.

"Duo seems to think we're friends," came her voice.

He wanted to sigh in relief, but he wasn't sure what the odd conversation topic was getting at. "Aren't we friends?"

"Not you and I, him and me," she bitterly answered.

"Oh. Oh… well, aren't you?" he shrugged to himself. "I mean, you bicker, but that's never stopped you from befriending someone before."

There was a short pause. "I'm hanging up on you again."

"No—no—no, don't. It's true though. You two call each other names, and generally enjoy trying to make the other miserable, but you also work together quite well. Don't you remember trying to set Heero and Relena up during the fund raiser?"

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"It was sneaky and conniving," he reminded her. All for the sake of confirming the couple's feelings, which they had been doing just fine at all on their own. Dorothy and Duo were both very juvenile in the "sneaky" department when trying to prove a point.

"I like sneaky and conniving," she grumbled.

"Which is exactly why you like Duo," Quatre triumphantly smiled at his own argument.

"So you just called him conniving."

And his smile drained away. With a hiss, he grumbled, "Am I on speaker phone again?"

"No, just me," she waved it off.

"Good," he sighed. "But why is it so hard to admit that he's a friend?"

"I don't know that I want him to be a friend."

Stopping at a red light, Quatre smiled a bit to himself. Dear Dorothy. Nothing could ever be real unless she expressly deemed it so. It was cute in a way, and a bit sad in another. "Take the ones you can get," he advised.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She was also being moodier than normal. "Nothing! I just mean that good friends don't always come along every day." Was he the reason she seemed a bit out of sorts? Was she still… well, thinking about things?

She hummed at him, but didn't comment. "Well, either way, I suppose I'd better go track him down before I find him line-dancing by here with the rest of my repair crew."

"Why—never mind," he changed his mind about asking. "I understand. How long does he get to stay?"

"The shuttle leaves in four and half hours…. I think I'll just stay in here actually."

Quatre chuckled at her.

"What do you know about fossilized bacteria?"

He blinked at the conversation change. "I don't know if bacteria can actually leave a fossil. Some algae can, I think. Why?"

"I've never heard of bacteria fossils before."

"They can crystallize in a substance that hardens around them. We've managed to study things that way, I believe." That was a stretch back to his biology lessons.

"I've seen those movies. Everyone dies," she mumbled.

"Oh, there's always one or two that make it," Quatre cheerily waved it off. "Why are you worried about bacteria?"

"They found some on Mars."

He pulled up to the next light and stopped. Both him and his car. "Excuse me?"

"Apparently they found something in the soil samples on Mars."

"In the soil," he repeated.

"Yes, yes. Life of Mars. Duo tried that too. It's bacteria."

"But it's on Mars," he started.

Dorothy sighed heavily. "I don't get you people making a big deal out of this."

"It's _on_ Mars."

"Yes. And once the terraforming is complete there will be lots of bacteria on Mars. It'll have friends. Won't that be nice? It can invite some over for tea."

"I think you're missing the significance here."

"It's a germ!"

"Not all bacteria are 'germs.'"

"I'll be sure to apologize if it tells me it's offended."

The light changed, and Quatre shook his head and continued on home. "Don't blame me when it starts turning everyone green and sprouting extra limbs."

"…They wouldn't actually unfreeze the stuff, would they?"

He shrugged. "I'm not a biologist."

"Oh, not what I need," she grumped.

* * *

He seemed fine. Normal. …Annoyingly normal.

He was probably sleeping at night too.

Oh she hated him.

No she didn't.

Could she get any more irritable?

She needed chocolate.

That's it. Next shuttle she was going on colony and finding a candy store.

No, the next shuttle would be the same one Duo was on… Duo. Crap.

Dorothy stopped in the middle of the hallway and hissed to herself.

"Oh, sorry Ma'am," a man mumbled, bumping her elbow as he tried to move around her.

"Sorry." She hadn't even noticed someone was walking behind her. Now that she looked, three other people stepped by as she slipped closer to the wall and out of the way. And when she looked around a second time, she noticed that she was going down the station instead of up.

Dorothy mentally screamed at herself in frustration and then took a moment to rub at her forehead. Every bloody time that man entered her thoughts she was left uselessly wandering around without a brain cell left to focus on what she was doing.

And he was always just right as rain.

Before she decided to actually start screaming in the middle of the hallway, she quickly strode into a convenient lady's room and made sure the door clicked closed behind her. No one at the sinks, no one in the stalls….

Dorothy stepped up to the white countertop and firmly placed both hands on either side of the stainless steel sink. For a moment she just hung her head and breathed.

Slowly she calmed, and then even raised her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. For a moment she studied her reflection in the florescent lighting. She looked alright. Her blouse had a few wrinkles in it from packing. No one here would notice though. Her hair had gone back into the ponytail better than she expected. Almost looked passably professional.

Her eyes were a bit baggy underneath. She didn't figure there was anything to be done about that. She could use some lipstick….

It didn't matter.

Vaguely she realized what she was doing. This had once been a common occurrence for her. Hiding in the restroom until she could smooth herself back out. It had gotten her through countless formalities when she would rather have lashed out at someone. Byron had once joked, "Are you mad, or are you lady's room mad?"

A smile tugged at her reflection's face, and she chuckled to herself as she lowered her head again. It had actually been a long time since she'd done this. She was far better at staying calm these days. She was far more understanding of other people and their feelings now.

She enjoyed having a feeling of self-worth now.

So why was she doing it again here?

…He just seems so normal. So fine with it. So… unaffected.

She always had an affect! Dorothy Catalonia lived to affect people!

Oh she couldn't be upset about this. What did she expect? This whole thing wasn't new to Quatre. He'd already been through this…. Wait. Staring at her reflection again, she stopped. Quatre had already been through this.

When did Quatre go through this? When did he stare into a bathroom mirror wondering what the hell was wrong with him?

Well, maybe he had. He did act a little weird sometimes. Maybe she just hadn't noticed.

Turning around, she leaned back against the counter. It was easy when they were together. It always just… worked. She didn't have doubts like this when he was here. She didn't think about things like this at all. Even before he left, she was alright. It wasn't until now that she felt like screaming and throwing things and crying.

…Crying? Reaching up a hand to her cheek, Dorothy brushed away a tear that she wasn't sure was even hers. Why was she crying?

Turning back to the mirror, she saw that her nose had turned a bit pink, and her eyes were watery.

Sniffing harshly, she snapped on the faucet and waited for the trickled drops to slowly fall over her hands. Stupid low gravity water faucet. Washed her hands, she dabbing her bottom eyelids with wet fingers. Leaving the water on just for the noise of the babbling little trickle, she put her hands beside the sink again and waited to calm down.

But she wasn't mad. Truthfully, she wasn't the least bit angry. How could she be? Never was she actually angry with him. But she was torn up in the middle. She didn't know what she was supposed to be doing. If she had some sort of goal, then she could work towards that. But there wasn't anything. _"There's no ultimatum here."_ That was how he termed it.

But she wanted one. Now she realized that she wanted someone to just say "do this or else." It would be easier that way. She could focus that way.

"…_you're no different than anyone else." _Oh sure. Every woman listens to a man say "I love you" and responds with "no you're not." A real woman would have….

Meekly raising her eyes back to her own reflection, her thoughts caught. _"I'm in love with you."_ It wasn't just "I love you." It was that "in love" part that got her. For some strange reason if it was said in five words instead of three it made her stomach knot.

In her useless view of how her life would go it had always included some random man saying an inappropriate "I love you" that she wouldn't return. Once upon a time she had actually even practiced a gracious way of letting down a poor soul like that.

That had been a very, very long time ago.

And she had also always been sure that he wouldn't have truly meant it anyway.

All of that was gone. All of it was idiotic anyway. My, she'd been stupid once.

"_You've moved on better than any of us." _That was actually rather nice of Duo to say. So then, he saw it too. He even knew that she was no longer the woman she'd set out to be. Her delusions were gone. And so were her expectations of the men in her life.

Quatre was real. What he'd said was real. As much as she'd tried to fight off believing it, it was. Maybe part of her still didn't believe it completely. But none of that made her angry.

It made her scared.

Closing her eyes, for a split second she tried to take back that thought, but couldn't. She was scared. And it wasn't for herself. None of it was about herself.

Quatre loved her. And if that was the only thing that entered her mind, she could give a hint of a smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But that thought didn't travel alone. That cold, stabbing fear always came too.

She was afraid for him. What happened to Quatre from now on? What was she supposed to do for him? That uncertainty was eating away at her. Indecisiveness. She hated it, and yet she had no way out of it.

The one person she counted on most to give her direction and light her way… was suddenly mute and stationary. He'd just sort of dropped this on her.

He was being kind. He was leaving her to find her own way, figure out her own feelings.

And it was driving her crazy!

* * *

The control dome was an insane buzz of scurrying people in suits and white coats. As the doors slid shut behind them, Dorothy had the overwhelming feeling that if she yelled STOP they would all go sprinting for a chair.

And the odd man out would have to talk to her.

Behind her, Duo whistled softly. "I bet this place is hopping on Saturday night."

She turned to glare over her shoulder at him. He'd been nice, in his own sort of way, to her and so she was returning the favor, by unceremoniously leading him straight into the satellite's top room. Oddly enough, they'd just walked in. No one even seemed to be checking who was coming and going.

"Yeah, yeah, glare at me all you want," he waved it off. "If Heero hasn't killed me with one by now, you ain't got a shot."

She sighed and gave up. But if she couldn't intimidate him, she'd have to find someone else. But since no one seemed to be paying them any attention, she was going to have to make someone.

To her left sat a woman at a folding table haphazardly set near the door. The curly haired young woman picked at her nails, and her wide eyes were trying to follow everyone in the room at once. White coat, glasses, air of socially inept intelligence. Alright, she'd do.

"You," she called, beckoning to the lady when she snapped her attention over to her.

The woman stood and took three quick steps up to their side. "Dr. River Tyler," she announced herself and showed her ID badge. "L5 Colony 159A18, North. I'm supposed to be here," she quickly added with a nervous look.

"Good for you," Dorothy raised an eyebrow at the girl. "I'm not." Turning back to watch the rest of the expansive room of people, she waved a hand around them. "What is going on?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see the young doctor give them both odd looks. "Um… surface testing for the Mars ground crew has found examples of bacterial life."

"Bacteria fossils. I heard that, I didn't believe it."

"Not fossils. In order for something to fossilize it must have enough carbon in its atomic structure to—"

"Another time," Dorothy waved off the explanation. "What are they doing about it?" she asked the scientist direct.

The lady blinked behind her non-descript black rimmed glasses. "Inert bacteria," she oddly identified it. "They are studying them."

"For?" she prodded.

"Evidence suggests that these bacteria were not simply deposited there. They grew, they multiplied. In essence, they thrived."

"Is it actually Martian?" Duo popped in.

Lowering her voice, the geeky scientist looked at him disappointedly. "No. It appears to be terrestrial. But it's a mutation, and evolution, it's made itself compatible, at least in very sheltered conditions, to withstand the Martian atmosphere."

Dorothy rolled her eyes. Duo moaned. "Aw, man."

"Still," Dr. Tyler perked up, and pressed her glasses back up her nose a bit. "It's remarkable when you think about it. This could give us huge advantages in the science of terraformation. The implications could inspire all sorts of advances. If something can already live there, then what else could it do while it's there?"

"If it could throw out some oxygen, we'd hug the little stuff," Duo winked at her.

"Exactly!" she cheered.

"How much of this stuff is there?" Dorothy interrupted them.

"Um, we don't really know." Turning back to Duo, who was apparently more interesting to the doctor, she continued. "They found it by accident. One of the drilling samples was dropped when they brought it out of the ground. The crew discounted it because of possible contamination skewing the results. They just tossed it off to the side and left it next to the rigging. A lab tech decided to use a piece for experimenting, and this was what he found."

"See, dumb luck," he nodded. "Solves all of the universe's mysteries."

"So what are they actually doing with the samples?"

"They're trying for reanimation."

"Cool," Duo cheered.

"I knew I'd seen this movie," Dorothy grumbled to herself.

"No, most movie premise involves fictitious microorganisms which instantly mutate human features. Although any bacterium may be capable of human harm through infection and the autoimmune response, it's nearly impossible to change the DNA structure of a viable living organism," Dr. Tyler shook her head.

Both she and Duo must have given her the same look.

Folding her hands nervously in front of her, she gave them a bit of an apologetic smile. "I read a lot of science fiction."

"As a scientist?" Duo teased her.

"I enjoy the unhindered mythical nature of it."

Duo chuckled, and Dorothy returned her watchful glare to the rest of the busy room. "I'm more of murder-mystery type," she mumbled.

Stepping forward a few paces, she considered the amount of people in the room compared to the amount she knew were supposed to be here. Director Huberts was right. They were making a big deal out of this.

"Oh," she heard the doctor whisper behind her.

"Yeah, except she uses them like manuals," Duo whispered back.

Dorothy sighed to herself as they giggled. With friends like Duo who needs enemies. "Will they send the samples back here?" she asked instead.

"Oh, no," Dr. Tyler emphatically stated. "The scientific conglomerate on site is keeping it all for themselves. At least that's the plan. When the CDC hears about this we'll see, but I'm betting the government will want to keep it confined to the surface lab for now anyway."

"In case of that 'nearly impossible' chance of mutation?" she turned back.

With a nerdy smile, the woman shook her head. "No. The potential is there for unwittingly discovering Martian Measles." She made a happy aside to Duo, "I named that myself. But right now, it is in case the lab tech actually scrapped it off his own food pack and made the whole thing up. There will be a huge barrage of independents, like us," she held up crossed figures, "who will need to validate it before it goes any further."

Motioning to the screens high in the dome of the room, she crossed her arms. "The preliminary reports go out in six hours. That's when we get to see what it looks like. It'll be fun."

Looking up at those monitors too, Dorothy had to wonder exactly what fun this was going to be.

"So… who called you in?" Duo asked her.

"I'm one of the microbiologists on Colony 159A18, you're closest neighbor at the moment," she pointed towards the wall. "We are accidentally the nearest thing the Mars scientists have to a second opinion."

"So that's your team," Dorothy nodded to the groups of white coats around the room.

"Yes."

"So why aren't you in there?" Duo elbowed her.

"Well… I'm a virologist," she pushed her glasses up her nose again. "I concentrate on viruses."

Dorothy suppressed a laugh when Duo, very nonchalantly, wiped his elbow off on the doorframe behind them.

"Well, nice to meet you Doctor." Pushing past them both, the doors slipped open for her and she walked out, Duo tagging along.

"Wait… who are you?" she called after them. The doors shut before the scientist figured out they weren't going to answer.

"That was a waste of time," Dorothy sighed.

"Oh, no. You're in trouble."

"Why am I in trouble?"

"Did you see the people in that room? Did you check the ID badges?"

"I saw a lot white coats," she shrugged.

"See, guest badges have this funny little purple stripe," he held up his in front of her for emphasis, but she didn't slow down. "There were eighteen guest badges in that room. Eighteen," he over pronounced. "Eighteen people who were not here this morning were in that control room just now."

"So?"

"In six hours this goes public to all the high ranking nerds of the world." Dorothy finally slowed to a stop and looked at him so he'd make his point. "In six hours, Mars is going to be the most important place in the universe. You heard her, if this is real they are going to throw every independent they can at this thing."

Dorothy crossed her arms and began drumming her nails against her elbow.

"Cat, this is a bacterial gold rush! No, it's a nerd rush! Every scientific body that exists is going to want a piece of this. If this stuff can live on Mars, it can live on any human compatible piece of rock out there," he waved around for emphasis.

"Good for them." She was still not impressed.

He slumped in defeat a moment and then popped back up. "Eighteen people are already on this station and no one else has even heard about it. Once they do, where do you think they are going to want to be?"

"Mars?" she unenthusiastically guessed.

"Exactly. You heard her, they are going to want to keep it up there. So the nerds are going to want to be on Mars."

"The colony is more than capable of handling more people."

"What's maximum capacity?"

"Fifty-five thousand."

"Small colony," he reasoned.

"Yes," she nodded.

"How many are already out there?"

"Just under seven thousand."

"And judging from the badges in that room, only eight people were supposed to be in there. That room just tripled. So if that trend continues…" he motioned for her to continue that line of thought on her own.

If the trend continued, Mars was about to triple in population. "They wouldn't need that many scientists."

"Scientists don't go alone, Cat. If this becomes the new wonder of the universe, the pharmaceutical companies are going to want to see what they can do with it. Every environment engineer is going to want to see what they can do with it. Every health safety organization is going to have to put their mark on it. Heck, you're going to have so many people poking sticks at this stuff that you're going to have environmental nut jobs picketing in spacesuits around the pile!"

"So all of a sudden, everyone wants to migrate." She wasn't sure she believed the numbers he was throwing out, but the potential was there.

"And what will all of those people need?" he hinted again. "Transports, labs, pillows, exercise rooms, vending machines… water," he emphasized again. "In other words, they need builders. That colony was designed to grow along with the tiny little seven thousand person population that's out there now."

"And we are already having trouble feeding the crew that's there…" she reasoned to herself. If the population suddenly exploded there was no way to sustain them. Not from Earth anyway. The distance was too far and growing every month that the planets' orbits moved in their own little way around the sun.

"Now you're getting it," he happily confirmed.

"We can't let them go."

"You're not getting it," he sighed, crestfallen. She glared at him, and he shook his head. "In six hours, you're going to get the idea of who wants to be out there. And I'm betting it's a lot. Not even you are going to be able to keep them away forever. Where people go, so does industry. Freeze dried fruit only tastes so good for so long."

"The colony wasn't meant to be self-supporting. At least not this early. They are supposed to have the first geo-domes in place before food production starts."

Smugly, he laced his hands behind his head. "Do you really think anyone is going to let them grow food over the top of that bacteria if they don't know what it is?"

Dorothy swore to herself. The entire project of terraformation was being ruined because someone sneezed on the wrong space boot. "We don't have the option of stopping this."

"No…" Duo stared up at the ceiling, still thinking apparently. "But you do have the option of making the Mars colony self reliant."

"The politicians aren't going to go for that this early on," she warned. Turning she began the walk back to her office. "Half of them don't like it the way it is. If anything this will destabilize the entire place."

"But look on the bright side. The majority of your new renters are going to be nice, docile little geeks."

She hummed. "Yes, mixed in with the lovely pile of workers we have out there now."

"Oh." He hadn't thought one that through yet. The cast off collection of laborers out there were there for a reason. They didn't enjoy the thought of returning to typical society. If you made society go to them… well, only time would tell.

Still, on to the important question. "How do you self sustain a colony?"

Duo whistled as they slowly wound their way back down the corkscrew station. "It hasn't been done since the good old days. It's easier, and cheaper, to segregate food colonies and habitation colonies. They all overlap, of course. Hilde has an awesome little tomato plant going on the balcony."

"You are so useless," she mumbled.

"Hey!" he snapped, and then just as quickly went back to thoughtful reflection. "Last time we were there, there was an entire half that wasn't finished. Have they enclosed it yet?"

"Yes."

"Is it finished? Like 'apartment for rent' finished? Buildings, infrastructure, footings, air, anything?"

Dorothy shrugged. None of this was her area, she was going at this blind. "I don't think so. We haven't been shipping building materials for a while now. They can't have gotten that much, if there is anything."

"Well, then, it's easy."

Stopping, she turned to look at him.

Shrugging, he flashed her a goofy smile. "All you need is dirt."

"Dirt?"

"Dirt. You've already got a divided station. It's walled off from the side that's incomplete. You couldn't ask for a better time to put in a garden."

He was serious. And the scary thing was he made sense while he was being serious. "We use the wall as a divider and grow food in one half and populate the other."

Duo bobbed his head up and down. "Colony occupancy just changed from fifty five thousand to twenty seven thousand, but they can all have carrots."

Sucking in a deep breath, she stood and looked at the metal walls around them. "That would be the easy half to create. We would still need building materials for the populace. It's still more than we could possibly ship out there."

Duo hummed. "Well I can't think of everything," he shrugged and continued walking without her.

Dorothy looked after him a moment. "Oh see if you make the memoir," she grumbled. Pulling out her phone, she found her contact list.

"Who ya calling?" he asked as she caught up with him.

With a smirk, she put the phone up to her ear. "The one woman in the galaxy who can make carrots grow on Mars."

* * *

Relena sat sideways in the shuttle seat, her feet slowly swishing back and forward as they dangled over the armrest. They had landed a while ago at the newest stop, but she wasn't about to budge from this space plane until she had some form of clear direction. "Where are we going to get half a colony worth of dirt?"

"Oh bio-engineers have been playing with that stuff for eons."

"Still…. We can't possibly get everything up there. Even with the five year time table, we couldn't handle a tripled population."

"I know," came Dorothy's voice from over the line. "The first line of defense is to put in some sort of cap on new arrivals. Limit the numbers permitted to be there. Make them set up their own research vessels. If they want to study it, they have to find their own ship and habitat, for however long they can maintain it."

"That's the easiest thing I've heard you say yet," she sighed. "Are you sure they won't just ship the stuff back here?"

"I don't know. But the more I hear, the more it seems the scientists up there are going to want to keep it all to themselves. And we may want to let them."

"The group on the surface has resource rights to everything found. That was how we got the funds for the colony to begin with."

"Aw, but the resources found within their exploration camp, correct?"

"Well yes," she nodded. "We weren't going to let them own the whole planet."

"So then… who does own it?"

Relena stayed quiet a moment. Her eyes moved to look up at Heero, who was leaning over the back of her chair. He'd quietly followed her half of the conversation without comment so far. She didn't have any idea what he would make of this later. "It hasn't been an issue before. It's a government program. So I suppose… we do."

"Well my dear. You'd better clarify your stance. Mars may be becoming privatized far sooner than expected."

"How soon?" she hesitantly asked.

"Well, not pre-election soon."

"In other words, don't say anything right now."

"Exactly."

* * *

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort." — Herm Albright

"Support bacteria - they're the only culture some people have." (nerd humor, I love it)

AN: Merry Christmas, my darling readers! I hope you all knew that I wouldn't leave you without a present, even though this has been a terrible writing year. I send everyone my sincere well-wishes, and warmest hugs.


	68. Chapter 68

AN: I need to expressly thank the number of dear readers who have kept prodding and poking, and pleading with me to continue on. Orieon (who resorted to virtually kidnapping me) and Schizoid Sprite, and many others! I won't lie, writing has become an arduous and nearly painful endeavor for me. I don't know why, but this labor of love has really turned into a grueling exercise. And I know that my inactivity has lost me some of my dearest readers, and that is truly a weight on me. But I am also reminded that there are those of you who have not given up on me, and I am sincerely thankful for that.

I will leave you all (to probably reread the last four chapters so that you remember what's happening by now) and bid you happy reading.

_Revelations  
_By Isis cw  
Chapter 68

"What if Mars privatizes?" Relana wondered out loud as she slowly paced the floor in East sitting room of her estate. "It was the goal all along, but I never thought it would move this fast."

"This may or may not be the catalyst she's expecting," Heero reminded her.

Of course nothing was written in stone yet. In the past two days the scientific community had certainly taken a very active interest in Marian bacteria, but the government disease control centers were staying mum about it. It would take time for them to sort out what implications this germ could hold. For now, experimentation was being done at the local planet site where it was discovered only. It was quarantined for now. The original discovery team was now charged with identifying how much of it was scattered over the landscape.

But Dorothy had a point, and Relena wasn't going to wait until the question was finally asked to form her answer. "If it's not this, it might be something else. What if they find gold or some rare mineral that everyone wants a piece of? It's bound to be something."

"Mars can't remain a government project forever. The people will be handed everything for the correct stack of forms. It will breed mistrust."

Hand them everything regardless of how much they work for more. A few slips. A few deadlines not met. A few people who want to make their own place out there and mistrust would bloom. Reliance, resentment, rebellion, war… it was an evolution that she would do anything to avoid. Each step had to be managed or it would lead to the next.

Independence had its risks too. Independence provided means.

Means tend to beg motive.

There had to be a balance to it. If they kept the lines open, kept people moving back and forth, it would be easier to see problems before they became too great. Knowing your neighbor makes it harder to be cruel.

So the only path was still the same path she'd always walked. Keep people involved, motivated and helpful. If the private sector came, she would do her best to invite it in with an eye towards those who already had a presence here. "Make industry rely on both fronts," she whispered more to herself than to her quiet boyfriend who was patiently watching her. "Make the third party watch over us both."

"Hn."

The little agreement bolstered her thoughts. She valued Heero's opinion above all others when it came to anything except her wardrobe. If she carried these thoughts forward, with significant guidance and help, they could create a governing force over both worlds… cash flow.

"So far we've focused on trade going only one way. But once established it has to flow back to the Earth Sphere too."

"It will," Heero reminded her. "That will take time though."

It was a long ways off. But the possibility was now cemented firmly in her mind. Stopping her study of the carpet in front of her feet, she turned back to him. "We just have to start in the same place we are now. Trade between Earth and the Colonies needs to be extended and easier."

"The trade bill will be passed."

"Almost there," she agreed. It would not be finalized until the next congressional season began after the elections. When passed, the trade between the Sphere would be far more open, sharing more goods and commodities, and opening business up again to practice and participate in both areas. There was interest, and honestly it was a majority desire among all parts of the Sphere that pushed the bill through as quickly as it had been.

It was coming. Soon the same bill and issue would come up concerning Mars. They had to stay ahead of public opinion. Mars had to remain the picture of opportunity.

This little bacteria might just be the hero of this story. She smiled at him and then walked over to sit on the arm of his chair. Propping her elbow on the back cushion of the seat, she looked down into his eyes. "How do you make colony dirt?" she chuckled.

* * *

"You want me to apologize to the nastily little freight carriers I just fired so that you can haul dirt?"

"I don't see how else we're going to be able to send the additional shipments."

Dorothy crinkled her brow and glared at Relena's, all too happy with herself, image on her vid line. "I don't want to."

"I've already requested bids from 3 bio engineering firms that operate on Earth and the Colonies. I've assured them that demand will be small and limited at first. I'm thinking a little ribbon cutting on the first Martian community garden in the central square would be a nice touch for my first solo re-election speech."

"You're going back there already?"

"Congressional council won't have started yet. Not a lot else to do."

Dorothy thought for a moment and nodded absently to herself at the idea. "Install a 'little piece of home' on the front step. Leave it to you to come up with that."

"That's why I'm in politics," she teased.

"And that is why I take notes," Dorothy smirked at her. "I'm still not apologizing."

The image of the young woman shrugged. "Hire someone else to do it then."

She placed her hands at her sides on the bed, and pushed her shoulders up to try to ease the ache in the back. She should have done this at her desk instead of her room. "That is becoming a much more tempting option every day," she stated flatly. She was so tired of doing this, and it was becoming dull and repetitive.

"If this is going to work, we're going to have to handle the first companies that want to be there carefully," Relena mused thoughtfully.

She nodded. This idea was as much obvious as it was brilliant. "Your first sectors are going to be industrial and developmental. Raw goods and simple fabrication."

"Finishing the Mars colony, whichever way that chooses to go, will be the necessary first step. That will take building materials."

"We may need to up the workforce out there to speed things up."

She nodded. "I'm not worried about finding people."

Dorothy smiled. No the princess always had an abundance of those. All they needed were a perfect mix of… investors.

* * *

"What have you done with that useless station of yours?"

Quatre blinked. "My useless…? Oh, the trailing resource station? It's up to a Board vote to unman it. Our planning commission on its future fell completely flat last week. We're out of viable options." He sighed to himself in resignation. "Not what I want to do with it."

"So it's going to be vacant in the near future," Dorothy repeated clearer.

"Probably take a few months to shut down and clear out, yes," he cautiously responded. Rising from his desk, he stepped over and closed his office door so that this wouldn't be overhead. It was not going to be a well received business move.

"Excellent."

He moved away from the door again and stared into space in confusion. "How exactly is laying off and relocating over seven hundred people 'excellent?'"

"I'll tell you later. What does it take to move one of those things?"

"Move?" he questioned, not understanding, or liking, the way her rapid fire conversation was going. "An act of Congress," he griped.

"I'm serious."

"So am I," he defended. "The operation of a mining station is governed under three dozen environmental acts. Some of those are defunct now that ESUN has been created, but most are grandfathered in. There may be a loophole or two within the new trade bill, but it hasn't been ratified yet. Why?" he asked more specifically this time.

"Alright, so you need approval. Say you get it," she stated, ignoring him. "What does it take to physically move the thing?"

He shrugged to himself. "It's an object in space. It needs thrust in the right direction. Something that size would require building and attaching its own propulsion system."

"You'd have to make it into its own space ship?"

"Sort of. Just a lot more… breakable."

"How long would that take?"

Incredulously he shook his head. "I have no idea. Why would we want to move the thing anyway?"

"Start thinking about it, darling. I have a proposition in mind."

"But you're not going to tell me?"

"If you insist," she teased, toying with him now.

Sighing in annoyance, he grumbled, "I insist."

"You may not like my idea."

"It won't be the first time."

"I don't know if it will work."

"That's usual."

"I want to move it to Mars, scavenge raw materials and create the baseline for privatization."

He stood shock still, instantly filing through everything that was wrong with that sentence.

"Quatre?"

He opened his mouth, but couldn't come up with anywhere to start.

"Can it be done?"

Good a place as any. "Technically… maybe."

"Maybe?"

"It's an entire station. To put propulsion on it would take… I don't even know what that would take." He strained his brain until his realm of experience completely faded out. "But if you did accomplish that, you're talking about a very slow moving object. Too fast and the whole thing would shake to pieces."

"How long?"

"From here to Mars? …A year," he guessed. "Maybe." That was just transit time. Who knew how long it would take to develop an engine that no one had ever built before.

"Hm, a little longer than I was hoping," she mused.

"Dorothy, where are you going with this?" he asked, at wits end.

"I want to own Mars."

He gaped in abandon until a hopeless sigh finally escaped him. Most women wanted jewelry, or candles, or fruity smelling bath soaps. Some of the more supercilious wanted cars, a house, maybe a private island. His wanted a whole planet!

It was the age old curse. Tell a woman you love her and she starts making unrealistic demands.

Quatre finally sat down at this desk and pulled open his memo program. "Start from the beginning and give me details."

* * *

"Foreman Alstead."

"Yes, Lady?" he answered, not looking up from the workbench he was seated at, delicately soldering something she would have assumed would be far too small for someone of his physique to handle.

"I need a new foreman," she stated behind his back.

"Am I going somewhere?" he stated deadpan, working away.

"Not unless you want to go to Mars."

"No."

Dorothy shrugged. Fair enough. "Then I need someone who will. And who will play nice with the restless natives out there."

"Why?"

"Our loads may be increasing far more than was ever expected from this little project. But even if they don't, I think this run has proven that we need an official on the Mars satellite to oversee mid trip repairs, and the off loading crew."

He nodded but still didn't look up. "Are they equipped to house a crew of their own?"

"I don't recall seeing anything like that, but I'm not really sure," she mused to herself.

Finally the man stopped long enough to glance up at her and then returned to the smoldering instrument in front of him. Oh dear. Had she surprised him that she'd been there personally? That was amusing.

Hiding her smirk behind his back, she turned her attention out towards the working crews again. "That's not important. All of Mars is 'build to suit' at this point. We'll just find them a cozy spot."

Again he nodded. "You're asking who I would recommend?"

"You know these people better than I do, and I'd prefer to have someone there that you trust to do the job."

"Trust isn't my specialty."

She chuckled at him openly. Leaning over his shoulder, she let her hair dangled against his arm. "More to the point then. Recommend me someone who I can trust to do it."

He paused just long enough to let her know she was making him uncomfortable. And again he nodded. "I'll have to replace whoever you take."

"Easy enough," she dismissed the concern and straightened.

"Foreman and how many for a crew?"

"You tell me."

"Four total. For now," he amended, obviously not taking long to make that decision. "That's minimum for repair techs."

"Perfect," she cheered. "Round them up, Mr. Alstead. I have plans to set in motion." Twirling, she left the hanger again before he had a chance to acknowledge her.

It felt so good to have a focus again.

* * *

"Here are the, albeit hasty, notes on what to do once Alstead has determined the Mars team. And you may have your office back." Dorothy symbolically brushed her hands off once they were finally empty.

Director Huberts looked at her comically, but nodded dutifully at the stack of items in his hands. "Alright. Mars command agreed that the repair crew idea would be an asset. They are setting aside some space."

"Of course they are. You didn't make it sound like it was a request, did you?" she looked at him pointedly.

"Well…"

"Your title is Director, not Pleader. Tell, don't ask."

"Eh, right," he mumbled as though committing it to memory.

"I'm off then," she stated, turning and heading down the station. She should time this just right for the evening shuttle.

"Wait. When will you be back?" he asked, following her like a lost puppy.

"Likely not for a while," she answered. "I'm leaving everyone in good hands." She tossed the compliment over her shoulder at him, and she wasn't sure he'd actually caught it.

"But… that's it?"

"If you are truly in need, Director, you have my number," she reminded him with a note of caution to her voice. One more bacteria outbreak and she'd change her number on him. Still, the worthless germs were turning out to be quite the little game changer.

"Yes, yes," he mumbled. "We-well, alright then. Goodbye for now, Lady," he said, forcefully sounding chipper.

Good for him. Pausing, she turned back to the man and watched him buck up under her gaze. Damn this being nice to people. There actually was something to it. "Farewell, Director. We'll see each other again."

Oh yes, she and all things Martian would likely collide over and over again.

* * *

"Just when I think I've finally gotten used to your ambitious side, you surprise me again."

"When everything falls into place for me, I can't just leave it lay," she answered.

"There are too many variables to this plan of yours. I'm not even sure why you are bringing this to me."

It was a cautious statement. Dorothy looked over the rim of her tea cup at him but let her smirk show. "Am I making you nervous, Marquis?" she asked coyly. Had she finally, after all these years, gotten the better of this mastermind?

He smiled openly for a moment. "It wouldn't be the first time, my dear."

Marquis Wayridge was ignoring his own tea cup and leaving it on the desk in front of him. She'd caught him off guard and obviously the weight of this plan of hers was settling rather heavy on his shoulders. "I'm bringing this to you because it will require some very keen eyes on all of those variables."

Leaning back in his chair he folded his hands together under his chin and closed his eyes as though lining out the possibilities. "This is outside of your assignment, you know." It was almost a tease.

And she daintily set her cup back on the desk between them. "The bridge is complete. There are now two ships in the government's control to funnel supplies back and forth. My assignment is now on autopilot. I'm simply moving my involvement forward," she purred.

"Involvement of that magnitude is beyond our charter," he very quietly observed, not opening his eyes yet.

"I wasn't aware we had a charter."

It was enough to make him look at her again. But there was a warning in those deep set eyes of his. "This is not Romafeller, child," he stated clearly. "We are watchers, not activists. The moment we forget that is the moment we become what the two of us escaped from."

"I will not dictate," she refuted the insinuation. "I will not overpower anyone. I want privatization. I want integration. I want Marians working for Martians, and I want Earthlings moving back and forth. That umbilical cord that we've overseen will only last so long. We can initiate the new world's first steps into self-sufficiency."

"With a kill switch implanted in its brain?"

Well, that was rather graphic. She raised an eyebrow at her former mentor. "If you like," she agreed with the implication.

"Raw material mining. Next will come refinement and fabrication, which this station is specialized for. From there industry rises. From the industrial infrastructure comes public works and services. From there, a happy, productive population," he expanded her reach. Rising slowly to his feet, he paced the length of the room and folded his hands behind his back. "And then, little stickers on the bottom of products that say 'Made on Mars.'"

"Novelty Christmas decorations are probably a ways off," Dorothy nearly snickered.

"A lifetime off," he whispered. He looked out at the grounds of his estate as the afternoon sun lit the fall colored trees. These trees had stood for several generations, each ignoring the lives of the people that passed by them. The red planet would do the same with them.

Turning over his shoulder, he regarded the Lady Catalonia as she sat in her chair sipping at her tea again, and graciously allowing him his thoughts. It wouldn't be long now. This time belonged to the young, and it was time for the old to pass away.

His only true purpose in this life was to guard and raise up the youth that would take his place. Yes, he was almost through.

"What of Mr. Winner?" he asked, unsure if he should use his name or not. It seemed somehow unfitting in these conversations. "What are his thoughts on all of this?"

"What makes you think I've discussed this with him yet?"

He allowed the small smile and turned his eyes back to the trees. "Partnerships are never truly equal. You're well aware how to prioritize your involvements." He snickered just a bit to himself.

"Involvement?"

He heard the nasty little note in her voice.

"I've had forty-three years with my best partner. And I've hid a lot of things from her. Not because it was expected, or just good practice, but because she honestly did not want to know."

Just this time, he stated the truth with no reserve. It wasn't something she was used to hearing from him, but it was time now to begin. She was no longer a child, protégée or not.

"Mr. Winner is not that type." Turning, he met her mild surprise. "And you are no longer the type to not grant him your favor."

There was a bitter edge to her eyes as she turned back to watch her tea cup. She didn't appreciate this, but what teenager ever did when an old man meddled? However, Wayridge had made a career out of meddling, and for once was enjoying it.

"Aside from that, the station that you're talking about is unquestionably his," he moved on. "The first step would naturally be to see if it is for sale."

"Not for sale. Just movable."

He raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the glass. "So you want Winner Inc. to be the name on the flag planted at the landing site."

"This all falls apart if it isn't a corporate presence."

"Hm. I'm going to have to buy more stock."

"You should have jumped on it when the price fell a few months back. I made a mint."

Wayridge chuckled at her. The cute little aside spoke more than she knew. She trusted this boy. And he knew how very short the list of trusted individuals was to the Lady. Turning around he looked at her critically a second before walking back to his seat. For a prodigy of the old coots of Romafeller, Elena had nothing to worry about for this girl. He would have to remember to tell her that.

"So then, his thoughts?" he asked again, settling into the chair.

"He hasn't shared them yet," she stated slowly. It was kind of her to admit that so truthfully. Perhaps she was returning the honesty he had given her. "He's staying rather mute, it seems."

He nodded to himself. "I expect this is raising red flags for him."

Dorothy reached for her cup again and then her spoon, swirling it slowly, and specifically saying nothing. Yes, she obviously knew her partner well.

"So the first step is assuring him the watchman's post will be manned," Wayridge mused. Leaning his elbows on the desk he leaned forward and set his chin on his folded hands. "Yes," he decided. "I assure you that post will be fully staffed."

She set her cup back down without drinking it. "Then one step at a time."

He nodded, both to her and himself. "Then I will count on the two of you to lead the way."

There was noted surprise in her eyes as she stared at him.

With a gentle smirk, he added, "This is, after all, a very long term plan. It's going to take a commitment."

* * *

"Do drop by more often, Dorothy," Elena Wayridge gave her another hug.

"When I'm able, I will," she assured the woman again. Finally making it all the way to the door, she gave them both a friendly wave and let the butler open the door for her.

Inside, Elena watched her drive away, absently tapping the cross necklace she was wearing. "There's no reason to be anxious about the girl anymore," her husband teased her from the drawing room sofa.

"Did she say something?" she wondered hopefully.

"Of course not."

"Oh, you people," she shook her head. "So stubborn with words." He chuckled at her, but she continued to watch the now empty drive. "Did you tell her?"

"No. There's no need."

She blinked rapidly and turned her eyes upwards. "She's not around often. You may not have another chance," she mildly chided him.

"She has what she needs from me. She'll be quite alright."

"She still comes here, to you, for guidance."

"No, she stopped coming for guidance a while back. Now, she just comes for permission."

Elena turned to regard him as he sat, perfectly calm, flipping through one of his favorite books. "She's not being reckless, is she?"

"Why would she start now?" he looked up at her oddly.

She nodded and turned away, reassuring herself.

Her husband stood and softly stepped in front of her, slipping his arms around her waist. "I'm not leaving things undone, love," he quietly confessed to her. "Dorothy will be settled soon. If I'm lucky, maybe even before I go," he chuckled.

Elena had to smile at the sweet little thought, although she knew it was wishful thinking.

He softly placed a kiss on her forehead since she kept her head bowed. "She doesn't need this old man anymore."

She looked up at him, doing her best to control the watering of her eyes, and saw the proud smile on his face. She didn't trust her voice right now, and so she hugged him tightly instead, saying without words that she still did.

"Now dear," he half soothed, half sighed. "I want you to know something," he stated very softly into her hair. "When my time comes, Dorothy will inherit things from me that no one else needs know about. It won't burden her, and I have no regrets about that. But should you, or the family, ever need anything, remember to call on her."

She didn't understand, but often when he spoke like this she didn't. But she listened and nodded. She couldn't imagine a time when she would require the young heiress to assist her, but she would file the information away as she was told.

No, he never did leave things unsettled. She didn't need to worry about that.

* * *

"Going to take a commitment," Dorothy repeated out loud as she sped away from the estate. Inside her head, she called the Marquis a nasty name… or three. Not just commitment, _a_ commitment.

The old codger was just gloating. How he, of all people, figured out the relationship quandary between her and Quatre, she didn't know, but it pissed her off. And now he got to enjoy making a thinly veiled prodding about nuptials!

Why wouldn't these people leave her alone!

She sighed in irritation. All of this work, all of this concern, the fate of a future planet full of people, and every waking thought of every person around her fell on her poor excuse for a love life. What kind of mentality was that?

Where were these peoples' priorities!

"_You're well aware how to prioritize your involvements."_ That was another little jab, wasn't it? She was not one to mix her personal and professional affairs.

At least she didn't think she was. She didn't actually know. She'd never had personal affairs before. She had never imagined that she could have something that would compete with the attention she gave to 'work' of this nature. She'd never expected to want any.

Of course, if you considered her past dealings really all she did was mix personal with professional…. Well, hell.

Dorothy rubbed her eyes and turned back onto public streets. She began the meandering path towards the chateau again.

Wayridge was certainly in a sappy mood today also. He'd never brought up his wife in a discussion like that before. He'd called her his partner. And she had to say, it had such a nice ring to the way he'd said it.

Her partner. That really was the way she had come to view Quatre, even long before all of this blindsided her. She believed the Marquis when he said that he didn't tell his beloved wife most of his dealings. And she believed even more that it was because the woman didn't want to know. The Marchioness was not a stupid woman. She had to know, and understand, what sorts of things her husband managed.

The Marquis' plan of bring Quatre into Oracle had a number of convenient outcomes. She still didn't care for his general meddling, but it didn't stop her from appreciating a plan that came together so nicely. If she was very honest, it was the older man's influence that now allowed her a true partnership. Like he said, they weren't all created equal.

And within that alliance, Quatre was not a partner who would tolerate secrets. Not now. Not between them. Business or personal… he had all of hers. He kept them, as near and dear as she now kept his.

That thought no longer bothered her. Perhaps some good had come out of forcing his admissions. Maybe she really had needed to hear them all. It forged them together.

She approached the side street that turned up towards the house, but she didn't slow, and didn't turn. She just kept on driving, circling the immaculately manicured streets and yards.

Alright, so she really was torn between the areas of her life right now. And it was seriously messing with her head!

And now the Marquis, apparently not satisfied with just being right, was trying to marry her off! See if she asked him to walk her down the aisle.

Well now, that was a corny thought.

Marriage. If she didn't have enough to mull over, he had to go and plant that in her mind. Well, might as well add it to the dizzying thought pattern. It wasn't as though it was a fanciful idea. This was Quatre after all. Actually, when you broke it down, it was the perfectly logical outcome. So logical, it was a wonder it took her this long to hit onto it.

And here she'd had such a nice vision of his future bride. A rather nightmarish version for her own wedding plans, but she'd figured she could live vicariously. It was just the way things were done for certain individuals with her sort of disposition. At least that was the way she'd seen it done before.

Her fleeting, wistful thoughts on the matter had usually included the idea that he would be settled first. Even in her delusions, it seemed she attempted to plan out the least emotionally damaging course. If he were blissfully wed, or at least on his way to it, he would merely be disappointed in her for running off to find a terminal millionaire who didn't appreciate his grandchildren enough to let them spend his fortune.

Even before she understood his feelings, she knew that if it happened the other way around, Quatre would most likely disown her.

Oh Quatre. Sucking in a deep breath, she circled the neighborhood, and headed back in the direction of the house.

If it was something noble, something he could believe in, he would find a way to encourage her. If she had came to him at some point in this, all starry-eyed and blushing and said she'd found someone, he wouldn't have interfered. And if she went to the alter all teary eyed, he would be there. He'd stand right there and, in that heart of his, be happy for her.

Even if it killed him.

All this time, he was capable of that. He was capable of loving her with no promise, maybe even no hope, that it would be returned. His heart was really that strong.

Hers wasn't. She knew that, and she didn't like that she knew that.

Again she hung up her thoughts on how this deranged man fell for her to start with. They just didn't fit. Well, in most things they did. In most areas they overlapped beautifully, but….

Perhaps she needed to start having better expectations for herself. Wayridge was apparently counting on her having, not just a future, but a nice future.

Shaking her head disapprovingly, she nagged her own thoughts.

She had spent the last couple years of her life pretending that she could map out this new life that she'd been thrust into. She'd fought with herself countless times, the majority of which was due to an absurdly cute blond boy. Yet when it came down to it, she'd never actually resolved anything.

Best laid plans….

Quatre had never stuck to a plan. At least not one that she'd devised. But it never really mattered. To be honest, she'd never stuck to her own plans. When they were together it all crumbled. It was useless. She'd lost. She always did lose to him.

And because of that, it always turned out alright. A true victor if she'd ever known one. The man really was aptly named.

Making the turn into the drive, she passed the trees and chased a squirrel off the pavement. Pulling around to the garage, she put the car away herself and poked the button to close herself in.

So then, there was still no conclusion to come to except to accept. However she still had no guidance as to what acceptance meant. As for that, she would have to confer with her… partner.

"_I've had forty-three years with my best partner."_ That really was a nice sentiment. It had such purpose to it. It wasn't mushy or starry-eyed. It was strategic and constructive sounding. Maybe she could come to like that idea. Maybe this was the legitimate end to the road she'd unwittingly chosen.

Could she really put up with Quatre for the rest of her life?

She looked dubiously at her reflection in the rearview mirror and rolled her eyes to herself. Well she was going to shove that image out of her head for a while.

Getting out of the car, she had to admit that the pit of her stomach still felt empty. No matter how bad her previous vision of her future had been, having her world turn beneath her this fast and this far was messing with her balance.

With an internal snort, she let herself out of the garage and walked to the gate. It wasn't as though this sort of upheaval hadn't happened countless times before. With her particular life, she should have given up attempting to plan anything long ago. Somehow though, this seemed worse and better at the same time.

Her foundation had moved beneath her feet, but it seemed it was still there. Still stable.

Looking up at the sky overhead, she had to wonder if this would be the last time she'd have to feel like this. Or perhaps, she just wouldn't have to feel this alone anymore.

Then again, she didn't really have to do this alone now either. She just had to… do… something.

Entering the chateau, she shook off the cold and pulled out her phone, flipping it open and finding the number. She found she wasn't settled though, and hesitated over his name. How did she even broach this again? He started this, shouldn't he be the one to bring it up again? Was that how these things worked?

He'd been so hopeful looking when he left. So unaffected when she spoke to him. So dimwittedly fine with it all. Was he just screwing with her?

He hadn't mentioned the slightest thing since. Their conversations were serious and matter-of-fact, but there was no sappy little slip when he said goodbye. He hadn't taken up calling her any sort of silly pet name. Hadn't even called her Precious again.

She was sure the little fiasco of a call aboard the Satellite was his way of checking on her, but he hadn't said anything about _them_ at all. Although, maybe she just hadn't given him the chance.

He was letting her sort herself out. Lick her wounds. Regroup. He was waiting.

Wasn't he?

It wasn't as though she was avoiding him. She wasn't expressly avoiding talking about that with him. Not exactly. She just didn't know how to start. How to….

She hated this feeling!

Looking down a couple entries in her call history, Dorothy changed her mind. When the line connected and a slightly groggy voice answered, she skipped the apology for not checking the time. "When's your next day off?" she opened instead.

* * *

"You rang?" Justin Mathews popped his head into the open office door before walking in.

"Yes. The station engineer on L2, number three, he's worked at several of the stations at times, hasn't he?" Quatre asked, not really looking up to acknowledge his newly named VP.

He nodded, "Dorian VasKasp. Yeah, we feed him all over the place. He's quickly become one of our top engineers. He's… flexible. When you, uh," he glanced back at the empty doorway, "make the nasty announcement, I'd like to get him to move to one of the larger stations and keep him on as a project manager."

"See if he'll stay there."

Justin looked at him oddly as the young man stared bleakly as his computer monitor. "There? You mean after the fact? You want to form a disassembly crew?" he guessed.

"No. I want to form a fabrication crew."

He finally just sat down in the chair opposite his desk and waited for Quatre to flush out the idea that was obviously doing laps inside his brain. "What are you going to piss off your Board with now?"

Quatre finally turned to look him in the eye, but the tight clench to his jaw didn't seem to want to let anything out. "I'm not sold on this yet," he slowly came to an answer. "Pull the roster on the station for now and see what we have to work with."

For the first time in a long while, the family friend sat and watched the young man across from him and worried what he was getting himself into. "How large of a project are we talking?"

"Large," he answered shortly. "While you're at it, see if there are other candidates on the surrounding stations that we could borrow if need be."

"What the hell?" he snorted, sure didn't really want to ask what the younger man was thinking.

Quatre sucked down a deep breath before he turned back to the screen and continued his thoughtful glare at it. "That may be exactly where I'm sending it," he muttered.

* * *

"Well now, this is new," she murmured, announcing herself as though her presence had been felt largely enough during her entrance.

"Delightful piece isn't it?" Devonte answered in kind, not looking up at the only woman alive who could make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end from a block away.

"Not your style."

"It's not my piece."

"Then why is it in your shop?"

"I haven't found a way to get it upstairs yet," he reasoned, finally rising and walking over to turn the open sign around as the Lacy Catalonia walked the aisle of his works in steady, high-heeled staccato.

"Redecorating?"

"It was a gift," he finally stated. Stepping over to the large, eight panel folding screen, he gently rubbed a hand along the carved wood top and gold leaf embellished finials.

"My, my," she teased. "Did I miss your birthday?"

"Again," he griped at her, but once more studied the Edwardian period paintings meticulously brushed onto the center of each panel. Her steps echoed up to his side and fell silent. "It was willed to me by Lady Casadona."

There was a surprised snort from the woman. "She honestly did leave you something?"

He turned to the disrespectful brat and glared down his nose at her. "Yes," he haughtily answered.

"I always knew she didn't like her daughters-in-law, but did she part out all of her estate?"

"I wasn't there for the reading," he shrugged, knowing he couldn't argue with that statement. Of course, she didn't seem overly fond of other women in general. "This just showed up."

"Well, perhaps you weren't so delusional. She did like you."

"Yes, rest her soul," he sighed wearily. "I'll never find another one like that."

"Oh don't give up," she shrugged and turned away to glance around his studio again. "Maybe you could volunteer at a nursing home for a while."

"Oh do shut up," he groused. Turning, he watched her meander again. "Are you here for something special?"

"Yes. There is a silly little man that I now need to stay in favor with."

Von chuckled at her. "Wouldn't know how to act if you didn't have someone irritated with you."

"Probably true."

"And what of your beloved?" he prodded. "How is he these days?"

"Probably just as irritated with me."

He shook his head and slowly followed her. "Someday you'll have more to say to me."

"Are you lonely?" she questioned, missing his meaning completely, and glancing back to the antique screen instead.

Another time he would have admitted to it, but this evening, he wanted something more filling from this conversation. "Are you?"

She finally turned to look him in the eye, but turned away again without comment. "I like this one."

He should have known better. Stepping closer, he looked down at a small landscape piece. "It's rather plain for you."

"It's not for me." Tilting her head, she examined it closer. "Add a rainbow to it." With her finger, she leaned down and drew a line from a cloud bank to the ground at the edge of the view. "Very, very subtle one right here."

"It's not a rainy scene," he mused. "I'll have to darken it a bit. Add some wet character."

"That's fine. Let me know when it's ready and I'll have you send it."

"Why a rainbow?" he asked curiously.

"This is for Director Huberts of the IRIS project," she stated evenly and then meandered back to his inherited screen.

"Iris. Greek goddess of the rainbow. Genius," he nodded his approval and picked up the already framed canvas. That would also make an excellent name for it. He'd inscribe that on the back. "Anything else, love?"

"How old is this thing?" she mused as he stepped up beside her again.

"Old."

"Older than the widow herself."

Von looked down at her a bit oddly but shrugged. "Little humans only live so long."

She didn't comment and just stood focused on the heavy wood screen. "And then they croak at tea parties." Dorothy waved a hand dismissively. "Such a waste."

"Not all of us live with such gusto, love. Some of us slip away quietly surrounded by what we love. The lucky ones, surrounded who they love."

"Is that how you'd like to go? All poetic like?" she batted her eyes at him.

"No, no." Leaning closer, he lowered his voice seductively. "I want to find a fiercely beautiful and bewitching vampire to make me immortal." Pausing he looked at her coyly, and tilted his head to lower his neck towards her. "Know anyone like that?"

She laughed at him and lightly pushed him away. "Be careful who you invite in," she warned. "I don't sparkle."

"Oh no, you're the bloodthirsty type," he crinkled his nose. Taking the painting in his hands he paced over to the framing station and began freeing the canvas. "But aren't you a bit young to be reconciling with your transiency?" he teased.

"I've never let being too young stop me before."

He nodded, but paused. "You aren't planning to run off and get yourself killed, are you?" he worried out loud.

There was a little chuckle as though the idea wasn't as silly as most people would think. "No. Quite the contrary. I've begun to accept that I'm going to have to live a rather lengthy life."

"Is that so?" With a shrug he went back to his work. "People always think they are going to outlive themselves. You are the only child who already outlived your expectations."

"No. I'm not the only one," she softly refuted. Walking up to watch him remove the canvas, she tucked her hands behind her back. When he looked, he found her typical smirk set in place once more. "But you know what they say. Best to be prepared."

"Of course," he muttered. Struck by another thought, he leaned over and bumped his shoulder against hers, whispering conspiratorial, "So… what's in your will for me?"

* * *

Walking the halls of the chateau still made her feel like a ghost. Even with her recent improvements, it was still not a place fit to be called a home. It was a lovely arena. It was built for sport and show. It held all the comforts a notable spectator would want.

When words were weapons and thoughts were poison, many had died bloodlessly on these floors. In the view of mortality, this was a castle defended by ghosts. Only their useless leftover spirits to guard the memories of this palace without a king.

Dorothy Catalonia was the last remaining resident of a hall of echoes. So now she stood in the music room, and critically eyed the portraits of those who had passed before her. Her parents and grandparents were neatly framed in their final resting place, sitting on a shelf and collecting dust.

So much had changed that even now their, once thought to be immortal, names were slipping into just so much dust as well.

Turning, she paced to the patio doors and looking out at the early night. This place… she had tried her best, but it would never see the generations of souls it was promised. No one else would come here to remember the lineage that was passed down through these halls.

She wouldn't remain here. The first and only Lady of the chateau… would be the one to leave it.

Her life didn't belong here. Whatever future she held wouldn't call her back here. This new world that now ordered humanity had no place for her ghosts.

Idly she wondered when the time would feel right to… sell? Could she sell it? Her family line had built this so long ago that the creators of this mausoleum were now nothing more than dust in the mortar. Even she did not remember their names.

"Until they carve my name in stone," she whispered the silly little mantra that their group thought so wise. Whether it be a headstone or history itself, that was where all of her line was now. Written in stone.

No one did get out of life alive.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. Very well then. Her life now belonged to better things. She had a blank slate of history spread out in front of her. It was time she found a new chisel.

Rounding back to the storage cabinet, she gently closed the doors as though tucking in her ghosts. Moving to the piano, she opened the bench and pulled out the dust shroud that had encased it for so long and stared at its folds in her hands.

No. Not quite yet.

Looking at the beautiful instrument, she couldn't cover it again, and tucked the cloth back away in the bench once more. This… this would go somewhere else. Somewhere memories could still be made with it. This piece needed to live on. Like that painted screen of Von's, this had destiny left.

She would have time to decide the future of the few pieces that required new life. She decided there was no rush.

Walking back out, she muted the lights and found her butler waiting with her suitcases in the hallway. Not today, but now she knew for certain.

Her life was worth more than these stones. For the first time, she felt immensely proud of that.

* * *

Quatre sat the glass of milk down on the desk and clicked his computer on. He allowed a yawn, but continued on as he clicked open his remote login and brought up the company's design program. He let the program search for new files in his private directory to reconcile, and it brought in the one he had started from the office.

The file was little more than his attempt to map out the mental notes he was getting stuck in. He was trying for all he was worth to develop a way of adding propulsion to a full Resource Station. Maneuvering thrusters, sure. That was standard for any space borne entity, but actual propulsion for something that size….

Maybe Dorothy could find the schematics for _Libra_ lying around somewhere. Better yet, maybe someone still had those engines.

It was past his level of engineering skills and had no idea if this was really even going to be feasible. But still, he was going to plug away until all of his ideas were out on paper. Granted he had more notes than actual design in the file, but that was all he could do for now.

He felt in control of the situation as long as it sat here on his private drive without another eye having seen it yet. It was a precious feeling he was harboring for right now.

Bringing the file up, he stared at the lines of diagrams and note boxes. There was, of course, an entire division of engineers in the company.

Actual engineers. Ones who would probably laugh at this very concept, let alone the feeble attempts in this file.

That was alright. He didn't intend to actually show this anyone. He just had a lot of mulling to do, and it felt more productive with something like this open in front of him.

Of course, all this program had to offer was the ability to determine the 'how.' What he was really struggling with was the 'should.' Should he actually do this?

Dorothy was always opportunistic. She could find a course through the murkiest, rock filled waters that no one else would dare navigate. It amazed him some times.

And this… well, this could go down in history as her crowning achievement. Mars was a novelty to most people right now. It was an adventure. Like the first steps on the moon, it was charming to think of what could be done with it.

No one actually wanted to live there.

Most likely, the majority of people had had the same thoughts about colonization. Newness brought whimsy, but that wears off quickly if the path is too difficult. The first colonists were pioneers, and it hadn't been easy. But once established, others followed.

Mars was now in its first fledgling steps. The pioneers were making a trail, but it was hard going and inhospitable. They'd have to build the road before others dared to follow.

Dorothy saw that road. She wanted to pave it smooth and inviting. If Miss Relena was the one cajoling the first travelers to find it, Dorothy wanted to be the bus driver for the second wave.

And she may honestly have the right idea.

But he had already seen what Mars was collecting. Marcus Delmar had been the one to put it into perspective. The whole project was currently being held up on the backs of ex-convicts and dead men with no names.

It was a prison colony. An expendable pile of kindling for the right match. The Delmares had very nearly been that match, but they had struck too soon, and with too much flash. He knew, possibly better than most, that resentment and revolt came from a slow boil.

Idly he wondered for a moment where the Delmares were these days, and hoped passionately that Ferra was in a prison very far away from him.

There were actually two reasons as to why he'd refused to press charges against the two for endangerment. First, they had enough counts to make sure they didn't get out, and second because he didn't want his name anywhere near those two.

Shaking that off, he turned his thoughts once more to the idea of the people who he would be handing this station over to. The decision to strip away seven hundred people from their homes and livelihood was one he had grappled with and lost. But the thought of handing that over to another want-to-be Dictator like Delmare turned his stomach.

Pushing back from his desk, he stood up and looked out the window. His neighborhood was quiet, as usual. Lights were on in the houses. People were likely lounging by TVs, or lingering after dinner. Some would be giving children baths, or tucking small ones into bed with stories or songs. There were dishes, laundry, bills, homework and all the things that made up a normal family evening.

Some day there could be a neighborhood just like this inside a Mars geodome. What would the children of Mars dream of? What nightmares would wake them?

Dorothy callously made remarks about Colony life being canned, what would she say about a bio dome under the crust of the red planet?

Well, that was a few years away. Right now the colony was the most stable living environment they had. The scattering of crew ships and research vessels were made to hospitable, but not permanent. But in a few generations, there would be true Marians. There would be graves in the red soil, and children allowed under the butterscotch sky.

If all went well, of course.

Quatre turned back to the desk and sat down. What happened if it didn't go well was what nagged at him. There was nowhere to run if a geodome was punctured, or set on fire. Just like a colony, once disabled, everyone inside dies. In times of turmoil, the presence of vulnerability can run people scared.

Scared enough to do unthinkable things.

In his mind, he saw the resource block that his father had taken out of the dock. That block, that half mined piece of asteroid, should have been used for building materials. Its minerals should now be standing in buildings around the L4 cluster. Instead… it was dust and rubble floating in the cold.

All because of fear and insecurity.

Maybe humanity wasn't really meant to spread at all.

He sat quietly for a while, running a finger around the side of his milk glass and letting the cold seep into his hand. He knew he shouldn't think things like this, but they came nonetheless.

He was set to disable this station anyway. It was simply too small, and over specialized to produce enough to sustain itself where it was. It was overburdened here with limits and measures and bureaucratic red tape. Mars was still a government territory, but jurisdiction was openly debatable.

This station could live again out there. With both mining and refinement abilities, it was perfect. The limited production amount wouldn't matter, at least not for a very long while. It could grow right along with whatever need Mars had.

Looking at the notes in his program, he closed it, unable to add anything right now. His eye caught on his recent file list and he hesitated before he closed out completely. The mouse hovered over the name for a moment before he clicked it open.

The 3D line model of a ring compiled onto the screen. Carved sides showed a series of small accent stones rising inside the swirls that held up the central gem.

As far as uncertain future planning went, this program got to see a lot of it.

With an audible groan, he leaned over and laid his head down on the edge of his desk. Dorothy. She thrived on confusing him.

Idly he laid there and wondered what she thought of them these days. She hadn't said a word, and really hadn't even let on what she was feeling. Aside from being unnaturally crabby for a while, there was very little he could venture a guess about.

He was doing his best to leave her be, but how long did he wait? Did he actually have the right to press her for some sort of conversation?

Was there really even a conversation to have? Sure, she knew he loved her now, but what difference did that actually make? What if she just set it aside and ignored it? Maybe she was just hoping now that it would go away.

No, no, he wasn't going to start thinking like that again. He had every confidence in Dorothy's heart. It just needed a little room to work for while.

Pulling his head up he put his chin on the desk and stared at the ring's drawing. He'd embellished it and changed it and generally played with the thing more times than he could count. He really thought maybe he'd gotten it right. The earrings he'd given her were sort of a test. He wanted to see how she liked them, and what he may need to change before he commissioned… an engagement ring.

He still wasn't sure he dared consider it that, but when facing facts, that was exactly the thought behind it. He hadn't given this to the jeweler he'd found to do her earrings. He hadn't shown this to a living soul. Truthfully, he didn't know if Dorothy wouldn't want to design her own… if things ever actually got to that point.

Quatre liked it though. The more he thought that someday this would be possible, the more it just seemed to fit. He'd broadened it a bit, added more weight than he had to her earrings. Dorothy was always a very solid presence, this should be as well. If she chose to add a wedding band to this he may need to adjust for that.

He wasn't sure what sort of marriage traditions she would want. How did he bring up something that like without causing suspicion?

With a bat of his hand, he moved the model of the ring on the screen to show the top view. Held within the intricate swirls stood a pear shaped opening for the center stone.

A teardrop. That was the shape he'd chosen for her. She'd probably never figure out why, or maybe she wouldn't even think about it. For Quatre, it was perfect. Every tear he had ever seen her shed held an honest piece of her very kindness. This embodied that to him. And as much as she didn't think of herself as the sentimental sort, things stored themselves inside her as much they did in him.

Her tears were her honesty.

He smiled a little at the image and lifted his head again. Closing the file and program he got the annoying rain of hearts as the Fez's Love Connection virus kicked in. Thankfully his speakers were still unplugged. "Do you love Dorothy?" Clicking yes, he simply smiled again. When those guys actually found out….

For the first time in a long while, Quatre mentally cursed.

Swallowing uncomfortably at the shiver that went down his back, he tried to brush that thought aside. It wasn't like Rasid would actually…. They would all be very happy….

Who was he kidding? He'd never see Dorothy again. They'd carry her off and lock her in a distant tower and… she'd punch their lights out and find her own way back. What was he worried about?

Alright, so he definitely had the right girl.

Taking a swig from his glass, he tried to get those kinds of thoughts out of his head again. Imagining things like this weren't going to do him any good. The last thing he needed around a woman like Dorothy was "expectations." The ZERO system couldn't predict this woman.

Over the rim of his glass, his eyes landed on a stack of books. Setting the glass aside again, he pulled them from the corner of his desk where they had begun a residency. They weren't books so much as binders, and as he pulled the top one into his lap, he opened it and began to flip the pages.

It seemed like quite a while ago now that he had found these photo albums in his father's closet. It had taken some time before he opened them and flipped through the photos stored inside. Over the past few months, he had thumbed through them, somewhat frightened that the pictures would release the ghosts of his past.

They hadn't stirred up much in him, and he was rather thankful for that. The pages contained mostly images of his sisters. Baby pictures were neatly arranged with names and dates underneath. As the girls grew, there were images of pairs or groups of them. A few contained their mother, and those Quatre always stopped on. Her smile was always warm and there was something so kind in her eyes.

Their father showed up in only a couple of the shots, usually at the fringes of whatever was going on. In one of the later books, someone snapped a shot of him asleep with a baby still tucked in his arms.

There were images of the girls in front of their schools, presumably commemorating their departure to the boarding schools that housed them at one time or another. Nothing seemed out of place about that. Younger girls stood beside older ones, sometimes even holding hands. Large families had a way of looking out for each other.

He admitted now that maybe he had been a little deprived not having those older siblings to surround him. Had any of them been here, he probably would have grown up differently.

But these albums all stopped with the girls. He was sure he knew why too. Mother. Mother had been the one to fashion these.

It shouldn't have been any sort of surprise, but it always made him pause. Gently he touched the paper and really felt it against his hand. This was the closest he ever came to her. A little thing like putting together a photo album was a devotion to a mother. He could feel that. There was pride written in these pages.

Finding an image of her, he stopped and just looked at the smile on her face as she held one of the girls on her lap. Wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, wide, happy smile, she was lovely.

Next time they were back together, he was going to ask his sisters more about her. He wanted to hear the stories now. He wanted to share in the memories of a large family. And maybe, in a way, he'd hear her voice in theirs too.

Pulling over the last of the albums, he flipped it to the back where a loose collection of photos lay. Tucked into the last album at the back were a few photos from his own baby years. Just a few. Most were dated on the back, as though marked with good intentions of being added to these memory catalogs.

His father had tried. It was only now that he even began to realize how hard the man had tried.

Quatre rummaged through his drawer until he found an old, forgotten glue stick. He likely wasn't going to be as meticulous about this as she would have been, but he was pretty sure he would do better than his father would have.

The thought put a little smirk on his face as he began to carefully place the photos and write in the dates that were listed on their backs. It had taken him a long time to mature out of his 'rebellious phase,' but he was coming to peace with his parents. They were getting along much better now.

He was sure that part of that had to do with finding a kindred soul to share these things with. Dorothy was sometimes both inspiration, and absolution for him. She had shown a light on his juvenile attitude towards his father, and he could admit now how appalled he was with his younger self.

He wished he could tell them both this. Wished he could apologize. But in a way, he thought they knew.

And he really did wish he could introduce Dorothy to them. He still wasn't sure what his father would have said. Now, he could understand that his father would probably have been leery of her. But even he would be able to see the good influence she's been on him. Hopefully, he did the same for her in different areas.

With a sigh, he paused his work for a minute to stretch. Now if she would just call or something.

Glancing at his computer, he rephrased that. He wished she'd call about something besides this Mars endeavor. But Dorothy was Dorothy. She had a new project. That meant she wouldn't talk about anything else for a month.

* * *

"Soooo….. What's going on?"

She looked up at her, suddenly suspicious, friend and blinked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and made a production out of landing her hands on her hips. "Don't play dumb. You didn't come here for free popcorn. Out with it!"

Dorothy looked at her oddly for moment and then deliberately put another kernel into her mouth and chewed.

With a theatrical moan, the other woman tossed a pillow at her.

Deflecting the assault, Dorothy continued with her snack, but shrugged. "I needed some time off. Why does there have to be some cataclysmic event tied to it?"

"Well, duh. Because it's you!" Bouncing off the couch, she landed on the pillow that was getting batted around and sat in front of her. Leaning in close, she stared her down. "Now give it to me!"

There was something rather unthreatening about a hyperactive woman wearing a leotard and a feathered headband. So Dorothy smirked at her and put another kernel in her mouth.

Dropping her head, the other sighed. "It's the outfit, isn't it?"

"Might want to change," she nodded.

* * *

"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a manner that when you die the world cries and you rejoice." - Indian Saying

"A human life is a story told by God." - Hans Christian Andersen.

- Dedicated to Mommy.


End file.
